City of Heartache
by Rowen-Bells
Summary: Now that Jace and Clary are siblings, he has to hide his feelings for her. But that's only the tip of the demon. Between his father and the Clave it seems like everyone's out to get him. **City of Ashes in Jace's POV**
1. Prologue: Distractions Are Fun

**~Prologue~**

**Distractions Are Fun**

It hadn't been hard to get Alec to come. Ever since he had gotten rid of his crutches, he had been itching to do stuff. And ever since Jace had come back from the hospital, he'd been more than happy to supply him with stuff to do. Alec and Isabelle were both completely for anything Jace had wanted to do lately, even if was crazy and reckless. Jace suspected this was because they didn't want to see him revert back to hiding in the greenhouse. Ever since Renwicks and the hospital; ever since learning that he and Clary—his stomach twisted—were siblings, and that Valentine was their father; he had been doing everything he could to get his mind off of it. If that meant searching abandoned houses, empty forests, packed nightclubs, and deserted sewers, then that's what he would do. He was just happy that Alec and Isabelle were right there with them. And right now they were on the fourth floor of an abandoned warehouse looking for a demon that may or may not have been extinct. He didn't want to think about Clary and how he was in love with her. It was wrong and he wasn't supposed to be. He also didn't want to think about how it had been one week, three days, thirteen hours, fifteen minutes, and thirty four—thirty five—thirty six, seconds since he had last seen her. Since he had stormed out of the hospital after she had snapped at him for being unable to say anything to their unconscious mother. He wasn't sure what he was _supposed_ to say to her. He didn't know her. All he knew about her now, was that Clary definitely looked like Jocelyn while he had gotten stuck looking like Valentine. He kicked a broken piece of wood and tried to focus on their surroundings. Alec was searching a nearby room while Isabelle kept an eye on the back entrance of the cavernous room. Jace had noticed that they had started taking the lead on things as of late. He tried to find interest in what they were doing—and he even succeeded when they were on the right trail and closing in—but when in a spot that the demon may not even remotely be? It made it a lot more difficult for Jace. Without the distraction of the fight, his mind was more likely to wander. And he hated when it wandered.

"Nothing!" Alec called suddenly, returning the main hall they stood in. "Guess it really is extinct—" Alec whirled around as a crash ripped through the building. Jace's lips ticked upward. Pulling his seraph blades from his belt and holding one in each hand, he whispered their names and watched them light up the dim warehouse. Alec had backed up to flank Jace's left, bow in hand, and Isabelle on his right. Jace lowered his blades to his sides, his body tense and ready.

"I love it when you say things like that," Jace grinned, watching the doorway. The crashing was getting louder. Closer. And then his eyes narrowed suspiciously to the floor. Kneeling, he cocked his head toward the ground. His brows furrowed. Was that a vibration he felt?

"And why on earth would you—"

_Shit! _Dropping his blades, Jace shoved Alec aside at the same moment that the boards exploded upward and a massively colorful and scaled beast forced it's way through. Somewhere behind him, he heard Isabelle scream and he whirled in time to see her golden whip flying out and snag the demon by the . . . whatever the hell that was. A claw? The demon was huge, and he could see where it got it's name. It had a certain dragon-esque quality about it. He looked down at Alec and grinned even wider, his brows wagging, before jumping to his feet and running toward the demon. He didn't lose momentum as he swooped down to pick up one of the seraph blades. He had thought Alec might be right—that the demon might be extinct—but here it was. It was definitely bigger than Jace had thought it would be. As he ran, he saw the arrows whiz past his head and strike the demon's back. The Dragonidae roared and Jace lunged, grabbing ahold of the arrows that were now lodged deep in the demon, and using them to climb.

"By the Angel, how the hell do you hide?" Jace panted, as he reached the monster's head. "Just between us, you might want to think about loosing some weight. You might blend in better." The Dragonade swung it's massive head just as he reached for his blade, and was sent flying into the wall. He didn't stay down long. He jumped quickly to his feet and bolted pellmell back for the demon. The three of them had it surrounded now, and Jace swung his blade in his hand, the adrenaline coursing through him like blood. Alec fired another round of shots, nocking the bow just as quickly as he fired the arrows, while Isabelle managed to lash out at the demon with her whip again. Jace felt his lips tick upward in anticipation and then had to dodge the large spiked tail as it came crashing to where he stood. Tucking his body in, he rolled under the deadly appendage smoothly and then spun.

"I's will not's be banished," came an otherworldly voice as the demon turned on Alec. Jace could hear the hissing in his words as his tongue flickered grotesquely between its jaws. "I's have been's here too's long, and I's have's caused you's no harm, children's of the Angel. Leave me's."

"Oh, sorry," Jace said with false sympathy, and the demon turned his large red reptilian eye to him. "But we can't do that. It's that whole 'sworn to protect and vanquish demons' thing we have to follow. I'm pretty sure there's a clause somewhere in the Shadowhunter manual that states we have to get rid of you. But I'm sure we could have been great chums."

"Then's you shall die's."

"I really hope not," Jace said with mock despair. "I don't think we'd live down being killed by a demon with a speech impediment."

The demon lunged at Jace, just as Jace ran at the demon. Dropping to his knees, he thrust the blade upward and felt it stick in the demon's abdomen. He also felt it rip out of his hands as the Dragonidae roared in pain. Scrambling to his feet, Jace saw the other seraph blade he had dropped and ran for it. Snatching it up, he turned just as another arrow took flight and embedded itself in the demon's eyes. The next thing Jace saw was the Dragonidae's tail strike out and send Alec flying. Biting the inside of his cheek, he looked at the demon's surroundings. Not far from it was the hole it had created in the floor. _Bingo._ Jace bolted forward just as the the demon turned toward him. He threw himself at the monster as hard as he could, and it wrapped Jace in it's deadly claws, stumbling backwards toward the hole. _Oh . . . shit._

Time slowed down. Jace was still stuck in the demons grasp, and he could hear Isabelle and Alec both screaming as he struggled to get free. And then they were falling. It was the slowest descent ever. The demon was just as shocked as Jace and the surprise was enough for Jace to get loose and shove his seraph blade deep into the Dragonidae's skull. The demon screeched and batted at it, but Jace grabbed the hilt and twisted it—opening the wound further just as they crashed on, and then through, the third floor. Luckily, the demon took the majority of the brunt leaving Jace mostly unscathed. But now it was folding in on itself—_Oh fucking brilliant—_leaving him falling on his own. His back hit the rotted wood on the second floor, and Jace grunted painfully. And then he was falling through it. Thankfully he had reached the main floor now and this nightmarish free fall would be over. _Ha ha, just kidding. Why would I be that lucky?_ He was crashing through the floorboards of the main floor, his arm catching on a broken plank and spinning him sideways at the same time that it jerked his arm away from him in an awkward angle. Jace had to bite down on the pain of the dislocation. Not that he had much time to do so before he was lying on his face.

"Ooouch!" he cried out indignantly. Of _course _this place had a basement! Rolling onto his back, he laid there and stared up at the broken floorboards that led up in a perfect line to the fourth floor. If this were a cartoon, each hole would be in Jace's shaped. Too bad this wasn't a cartoon. Would have made for a more entertaining fall. Maybe he could have tried to pose differently through each floor. That'd have been amusing. Suddenly Izzy was peaking over the side of the of the fourth floor hole. It was dark in the basement though, and she must not have seen him because she immediately shook her head and disappeared. Jace placed his one uninjured arm behind his head and waited.

Now that the Dragonidae was gone, what could he have them looking for tomorrow? He laid there and thought of the possibilities. He needed distractions. Without distractions, he started thinking. And when he started thinking—he thought of Clary and his father. And he didn't want to think of Clary and his father. It was a good thing that this city was chalk full of demons. Plenty of distractions.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: <em>**_Alrighty, here it is. The start of the second book. Now I know this is a short, short, really really short chapter, but it's better than giving you just an excerpt (which I had almost done), right? Right? Anyhoo, I hope you like it! Please review!_


	2. Bad to Worse

**~Chapter One~**  
><strong>Bad to Worse<strong>

Ouch.

_Ouch._

Oh . . . seriously, are you kidding me?

Alec leaned against the wall of the elevator for support, his whole body hurting after having been thrown into a wall like a rag doll. _Come_ . . . _chase down a demon_, he said. _It will be fun,_ he said—_it will be_ _extinct_, he said. Alec cast a dark look across at Jace who was watching him with an amused sort of smile. He was lucky he was cute to look at—and that it would be a serious crime to mar such an angelic face, or Alec might have hit him. In fact, he still might. But then . . . he had been the one willing to go, so he supposed that he couldn't completely blame his _parabatai_ for the injuries he had sustained. He also knew that Jace was still coming to terms with what he had learned at Renwicks. About his father—about Clary. And it hurt him that there was really no other comfort that he could bring him, but to chase down demons in the furthest stretches of the sewers, nightclubs, and warehouses. So if that's what Jace wanted to do, then they would do it. Even if that meant running out to God knows where tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day. Because he knew Jace. And he knew that he was probably already planning their next excursion. He also knew that the fact that Clary hadn't been back since the day they went to the hospital was weighing on Jace. Alec had forgiven Clary that day. Had even tried to be nice to her, but was this really how she was going to act? He frowned irritated.

"Are you still mad?" It was Jace. Alec shot a glance across the elevator at him and saw that he wore an exasperated expression as he looked back at his brother. Was he still mad? Mad that they had gone in search of an "extinct" demon that turned out to be very much _not_ extinct? Naaah, he wasn't mad. Why would he be mad? It had only just nearly killed them all. Alec shook his head.

"I'm not mad," he said.

"Oh, yes you are." Jace accused, raising his arm to point at Alec, and then yelping in pain and pulling it back in against his chest. Alec had to fight to keep from laughing at him. Served him right for scaring the shit out of him after he had been made to watch as Jace fell several stories through rotted wood. Alec'd about killed him when he found out he had lived through it. And now he wanted to press the issue of whether or not he was pissed? Couldn't he just drop it? He was trying really hard to be supportive of his brother, not harp on the fact that what they had just done had been beyond insane, and really stupid, and—

"I am not," he said again, but this time through clenched teeth as he fought back his anger. "Just because you said dragon demons were extinct—"

"I said mostly extinct," Jace corrected with that stupid smile of his, and Alec became incensed.

"Mostly extinct," he said, his voice shaking with anger as he poked a finger at his _parabatai,_ "is NOT EXTINCT ENOUGH."

But as always, Jace was infuriatingly calm and waited for Alec to finish yelling at him. He watched as his brother raise a hand to his chin, contemplatively. "I see," Jace said, looking at him. "I'll just have them change the entry in the demonology textbook from 'almost extinct' to 'not extinct enough for Alec. He prefers monsters really, really extinct.' Will _that_ make you happy?" Alec's anger caught in his throat as he stared at his brother. This—this right here was why he was in love with Jace. Because of the stupid infuriating and charming way he could get Alec to stop being mad at him. Because of his smart mouth. Alec bit back on a smile, refusing to give that to Jace. He could just continue to think he was mad.

"Boys, boys," Isabelle called over her shoulder, and his eyes flickered to his sister. She met his eyes in the reflection of the mirror that she was checking herself out in. "Don't fight." Alec raised his brow, and she spun around, a smile on her face. "All right, so it was a little more action than we were expecting, but I thought it was fun."

"Fun? She thought it had been fun? Of course she did. Not for the first time, Alec wondered how it wasn't Jace and Isabelle that were related. They were like peas in a pod when it came to demon hunting. And then he frowned. Maybe she would have made a better _parabatai_ for him, too. He shook his head and said instead, "How do you manage _never_ to get blood on you?"

"I'm pure at heart," she shrugged, looking down at her clothes. "It repels the dirt."

Across from him Jace snorted and Alec's eyes snapped to him at the same time that Isabelle's did. Only she looked affronted. Jace only grinned and wiggled his dirty fingers at her. "Filthy inside and out."

Alec chuckled to himself, and watched as Izzy opened her mouth ready to respond with something he was sure to be rude, when the elevator came to a grinding halt. That was seriously the longest elevator ride ever. Isabelle seemed to think so to. "Time to get this thing fixed," she announced, sliding the door open.

Alec watched as Izzy stepped out first, followed by Jace. He came last, wincing with each step he took. He still hadn't completely healed from their run in with the Greater Demon, but he tried not to show it too much. Besides, he wasn't concerned about himself—but about Jace. He worried that this sudden desire to throw himself head long into tracking down demons was his way to ignore the real problems. In fact he knew it was, he just hadn't figured out how to mention it to Jace. And if he didn't stop, or at least slow down, he was bound to get himself killed. So he was Valentine's son—so what? It's not like he had known but kept it secret from them. It had come as much of a shock to Jace as everyone else. And so he and Clary were brother and sister. That wasn't so bad was it? _He_ had a sister, and it was okay. Alec knew that part of his brother's problem with it stemmed from the almost relationship he and Clary had nearly had, but . . . there were others out there, right? Others that would love him just as much as—he hid his face as he felt his cheeks flush. He couldn't be mad at Jace he realized, and he wasn't mad a him. He also didn't want him thinking that he was. Sitting down on a bench, he began humming tunelessly as he kicked off his boots while Jace unzipped his jacket and hung it. His brother gave him a sly smile that told him he understood.

"Now I'm hungry," Izzy said suddenly as she pulled out the pins that were keeping her hair up. "I wish mom were here to cook us something."

"Better that she isn't," Jace countered as he removed his weapons belt. "She'd already be shrieking about the rugs."

"You're right about that," said an icy voice, and all three of them snapped there heads to the hallway where there mother was standing in a dark traveling suit, and her raven dark hair pulled back. Isabelle would never have to wonder what she would look like when she got older, as she was they were very nearly the spitting image of each other. And then he noticed that his mother's arms were folded as she looked at Jace with—Alec swallowed, his stomach dropping. He had seen his mother give Jace a lot of looks, but that . . . that had never been one of them. It was Isabelle who spoke first as she ran forward.

"Mom!" she called, wrapping her arms around their mother, who continued to stand ramrod straight. Alec got to his feet slowly, taking care to try to hid his limp as he joined his mother and his sister. He wrapped his arms around both of them. When he let go, he turned and saw that Jace hadn't moved from his spot, but instead stared at his mother with uncertainty. Jace had seen the glare as well then, Alec thought. "Where's Dad?" Isabelle asked, breaking the silence as she finally let go of their mother. "And Max?"

Alec looked at his mother and saw her take a small breath. "Max is in his room," she exhaled, her voice cautious. "And your father, unfortunately, is still in Alicante. There was some business there that required his attention." And Alec was immediately on guard. He tried meeting his mother's eyes, but she avoided his gaze. Was it on purpose?

"Is something wrong?" he finally asked.

His mother turned on him, her eyes narrowed, and Alec felt his stomach twist nervously. "I could ask _you_ that," she snapped, her gaze falling to his injured leg. His heart began racing. "Are you limping?"

He licked his lips and looked up at Jace, who was absolutely no help as he was still looking at Maryse. "I . . ." he began. What was he gonna say? Yes? He couldn't very well say that he had nearly been killed by a Greater Demon, but that it was all good now. On the other side of the coin, he was a really bad liar, and his mother knew it. She already looked pissed, no need in angering her further. He looked past her at Izzy, who stepped forward swiftly.

"We had a run-in with a Dragonidae demon," she said quickly. "It was nothing."

"And I suppose," she said, turning to her daughter, her eyes furious, "that Greater Demon you fought, that was nothing too?"

Isabelle's eyes went wide as Alec stomach plummeted. She knew? But how did she know? Who in their right mind would tell her _that?_ He turned to look at Jace and saw that he, too, was shocked by her knowledge. And that was saying something as Jace was rarely ever shocked. "That," Jace said as Maryse turned her cold blue eyes on him again, "wasn't planned for." But there was more than shock, Alec realized. He was unsure how to react to Maryse's sudden appearance, or the fact that for some reason, their mother was being incredibly icy toward him. "That was a mistake—"

"Jace!"

Alec turned to see his youngest brother dart from behind their mother and into the room. He noticed that his mother didn't seem thrilled about his little brother's sudden arrival as everyone looked at the youngest Lightwood; who was looking at Jace with excitement and hero worship. "You're back!" He grinned. And then his brother's eyes met Alec's as he turned to look at him, and then at Izzy. "You're all back!" He was grinning from ear to ear. Alec couldn't help but to grin as well. His little brother had that infectious quality about him. "I _thought_ I heard the elevator!"

"And I thought I told you to stay in your room," Maryse said dryly.

Max looked at their mother, his grin disappearing and his brows creasing. "I don't remember that," he said with such seriousness and conviction that Alec couldn't help but to smile as he reached forward and ruffled his kid brother's hair. Usually, Max would bat him away, but this time he endured it. As he retracted his hand, he looked at his mother, and his smile was quickly squashed. She wasn't smiling even a little, but she was giving Jace that look again—a look that clearly said she was not happy to see him there. It was cold glare and it made Alec shiver nervously. He looked at Jace and knew that he had seen it too. In fact, the only one's who seemed oblivious was Izzy, who was staring at Max, and Max who was grinning at Jace. "I heard you fought a Greater Demon," Max beamed. "Was it awesome?"

"It was . . . different," Jace said slowly, looking from Alec to Maryse and then back down to Max. "How was Alicante?"

"It was _awesome!"_ Max gushed. And then he went into explaining all about the stores they had been to, the places he and been shown, and all the while Alec couldn't seem to escape this icy dread he felt each time he looked at his mother. Something was going on and it wasn't good. Usually, she was quick to yell at them all, but this time—this time he could see that his mother was trying desperately to hold herself back. "—and I'm going to try going to try to get Hodge to show me—" Jace's head snapped up, and Alec recoiled from the incredulity he saw on his _parabatai's_ face as he looked at his mother. He knew what he was thinking though. Max had mentioned Hodge. He didn't know yet. He couldn't blame his mom for not telling him yet, as he was so young, but Jace seemed to disagree. It was his mother who spoke, cutting off her youngest son.

"That's enough, Max," she said reaching forward and taking her son by the arm, pulling him away form Jace like she thought him a rabid dog.

"But I'm talking to Jace," he protested, staring up at their mother and looking affronted.

"I can see that," she said flatly as she pushed him toward Izzy. "Isabelle, Alec, take your brother to his room. Jace," she turned to look at him, and Alec could hear the arsenic in her voice. Why? He wondered. Why would she be treating him like this? "Get yourself cleaned up and meet me in the library as soon as you can."

"I don't get it," Alec finally said, looking from his mother to Jace. "What's going on?"

"Is this about my father?" Jace said in a low casual voice, and Alec's head snapped to him. He could see the tension in his _parabatai's_ eyes and along his shoulders. He knew he was anything but casual right now.

"The _library."_ she practically spit as a response. Alec shook his head. This wasn't happening. He knew that this was something that Jace had worried about, and he himself had told him that there would be no reason for him to worry. "We'll discuss the matter there," she finished, and Alec met Izzy's eyes. She too was shocked by the turn of events, finally realizing what was going on. Alec stepped forward, blocking his mother's view of Jace.

"What happened while you were gone wasn't Jace's fault," he said boldly. "We were all in on it. And Hodge said—"

"We'll discuss Hodge later as well," Maryse cut him off, her tone cautioning as she looked at a blissfully ignorant Max.

"But Mother," Isabelle interjected moving to stand by her brother. "If you're going to punish Jace, you should punish us as well. It would only be fair. We all did exactly the same things."

The silence drug on forever as Maryse looked at each of her children. But that was enough. Alec knew that whatever was going to happen, they were not going got be able to stop it. She looked down at Max, and when she looked back up, Alec could see the pain in her eyes. "No," she said softly. "You didn't."

**#####**

Maryse paced the library that had once been Hodge's sanctuary. How many days and nights of his exile had he spent here? Exiled because of Valentine, just as her and Robert had been exiled. And now he was back to torment them with his son . . . the boy she had raised and cared for all for the name of Wayland. And now the Inquisitor was going to get involved. Would be here shortly. And who knew what she would do to Jace—what punishment he would recieve. Her hand tightened around the glass she was holding. She wanted to throw it. She wanted to throw it and listen to it shatter. She wanted to hear something else break like she was breaking. Instead, she walked to the desk and set the glass down hard. Pulling the stopper out of the glass decanter nearby, she poured herself more of the red wine within it. She wished for something stronger, but this would have to do. She downed it and refilled the glass. Putting the stopper back in, she slumped down into the plush desk chair and turned it to face the fire that she had started earlier. She watched as the flames danced. She watched and she remembered. She remembered how charming Valentine had been—how convincing in his views. She had loved him once. Never like she had once loved Robert, but . . . almost. He had had that way about him that was just so easy to love. Easy to believe. Charismatic. And then she remembered New York and the Uprising, and she heard the screams.

"Maryse."

She jumped, her wine spilling in the process as she looked up at the boy who was Valentine's son. The boy that had the same charismatic charms as his father. "Jace," she said, turning the chair and sitting up a little straighter. "I didn't hear you come in." Jace didn't move from where he stood as he looked at her. But she looked at him. Yes, she would look at him carefully now. And she could see what she had maybe refused to see before. She could see Valentine all over him now. And it wasn't just the similar appearance with his blonde hair and strong jaw line, no . . . it was in his mannerisms and his attitude. Even now, he stood expressionless, his eyes giving away nothing. She only remembered one other who was that skilled with hiding his emotions.

"Do you remember," Jace said suddenly, his eyes curious, "that song you used to sing to Isabelle and Alec—when they were little and afraid of the dark—to get them to fall asleep?"

Maryse blinked, her brows knitting together as she looked at him. He had caught her off guard with his question, and yet he had gone back to looking just as expressionless—just as hard to read. "What are you talking about?"

"I used to hear you through the walls," he said, his body straight. He still hadn't taken a step forward. He only just stared at her without emotion. "Alec's bedroom was next to mine then," he continued, though he didn't need to. She knew what he was talking about now. Her children had been terrified at one time. Afraid of the demons that they had yet to meet but someday would. Afraid of what the night would bring when the lights were shut off. She looked at Jace, but said nothing, because it wasn't just her children she had sung to—not that he would know that. But . . . Maryse sighed. She wasn't sure why he would bring this up now, but Jace continued, refusing to give it up. "It was French—the song."

_A la claire fontaine,_ Maryse thought involuntarily. _M'en allant promener_. But how—how would he know to remember _that_ song in particular unless . . . ? She looked at him curiously. Maybe he _had_ realized—she bit back on her thoughts and shook her head. What was this? A ploy to distract her, she wondered. His father was good at doing things like that. Beside's, this was not the time for such talk, what with more important matters to be discussed. "I don't know why you'd remember something like that," she said. But Jace cut off what she had intended to say next.

"You never sang to me." he said, staring at her intently. Though his tone was not unkind or accusatory, Maryse felt her mouth pop open in surprise at the same moment her heart sank a little. _But I did,_ she nearly said, though she didn't. She didn't because it didn't matter. Because there was no point in bringing it up now. He probably wouldn't believe her anyway. She sighed, and shook her head again, "Oh, you—you were never afraid of the dark," she said airily, waving her hand as one would wave away a fly.

Jace's eyes narrowed, but only slightly. "What kind of ten year old isn't afraid of the dark?"

But she only stared back. _The kind standing in front of me, _she thought. And it was true. Jace had never been afraid of the dark. But that wasn't why she had sang it loudly. It was for a whole other reason. A reason she realized that, as Valentine's son, might be completely beyond him to understand. And then her heart picked up and she raised a brow, looking at him. She knew her glare was icy, but she needed it to be. She could not be sucked into stories of the past, or reminded how much she cared for this boy. She just couldn't. "Sit down, Jonathan," she said coldly, indicating the vacant chair on the other side of the desk. "Now."

Slowly, incredibly slowly, he made his way forward. Maryse could feel her impatience growing with each dragging step he took, but she said nothing. She only watched him. She felt betrayed, looking at him. Stupid for not having realized it sooner. And idiotic for not wanting to believe it when she had first learned of it back in Alicante—even though now that she had had time to think about it, it made more sense than the idea of him being Michael's son. He had a sister, too—or so she had learned. This had surprised her greatly. But then, it shouldn't have surprised her at all to learn that Jocelyn Morgenstern had been pregnant with another of Valentine's children when she _ran,_ she thought bitterly.

Jace threw himself into the large overstuffed chair and looked up at her as if he were bored. "I'd rather you didn't call me Jonathan."

"Why not?" she asked, unable to stop herself. "It's your name." And she watched him, watched him for any spark of annoyance or regret or acceptance. For anything really. Jace was a nickname after all. In fact, it had been her who had given it to him. She remembered how much he had seemed to like it, and how he had demanded that everyone call him by it, but now that it was known who he really was—now that the secret was out, wouldn't he want to reclaim his real name? She guessed it didn't matter. It wasn't what she really wanted to know anyway. The real question, the one she feared the answer to, was whether Jace had been a willingly pawn of Valentine's all this time. "How long have you known?"

"Known what?" Jace asked, his brow ticking upward though his eyes stayed void of emotion.

Maryse wanted to wipe that infuriatingly expressionless look off his face. He wasn't doing himself any favors by putting up a front . . . didn't he realize that? "Don't be stupid," she snapped. "You know exactly what I'm asking you. How long have you known that Valentine is your father?" She fingered the edge of her wineglass as she waited for his response. Each turn around the rim caused a low melody to ring out. Finally she stopped and stared at Jace. He still hadn't answered, and she couldn't stop herself from wondering what kind of lie he might be putting together. He _was_ Valentine's son after all.

"About as long as you have," he said finally.

Maryse tapped her finger on the glass stem, her head shaking. That wasn't possible. "I don't believe that." How could she? How could she believe that—

"You don't_ believe _me?" Jace blurted out disbelievingly and Maryse's eyes snapped up. She caught just the flicker of him flenching as if his own words had hurt him. On her way home from Alicante, she had been so careful to construct a wall around herself against him—against what she felt for this boy that she had raised for the past seven years, but that slight inflection she had just seen in him was like a chisel against the stone protecting her. She sighed.

"It doesn't make sense, Jace," she said, switching back to the name he preferred. The name she had called him since he had arrived. Truth be told, she preferred it, too. "How could you not know who your own father is?" She could hear the desperation in her tone. The desire to understand and believe him. But how could she when she knew that believing him would possibly only end in heartbreak? She had already been down the road of caring for someone and then being betrayed by them. She couldn't go down it again.

"He told me he was Michael Wayland," he said, sitting up straighter, his hands in fists. It was the only sign at all that he was distressed, but Maryse knew it well. Jace was good at hiding the emotion from his tone and expression, but his body was another story. It always gave him away if you knew what to look for. "We lived in the Wayland country house—"

"A nice touch, that." She cut him off bitterly. She hated the idea of Valentine touching anything that belonged to Michael, but there was also nothing she could do about it. She looked at Jace—Jonathan—the name of Michael's son. Was that just another play made by Valentine to sell his story, she wondered. "And your name? What's your real name?"

Jace stared at her before saying flatly, "You know my real name."

"Jonathan," she said curiously. "I knew that was Valentine's son's name. I knew Michael had a son named Jonathan too. It's a common enough Shadowhunter name—I never thought it was strange they shared it, and as for Michael's boy's middle name, I never inquired. But now I can't help wondering. What was Michael Wayland's son's real middle name?" She met Jace's eyes. _Christopher. _That was Jace's middle name. But had it had it also been Jonathan's? Had Valentine taken that from the boy, too? She shook her head and said instead, "How long had Valentine been planning what he was going to do? How long did he know he was going to murder Jonathan Wayland—" She cut herself off as her heart thudded painfully. She swallowed and then swallowed again. She looked down at the drink in her hand, and was surprised to find it empty. She couldn't remember drinking it all. She waited until her heart slowed to speak again, her eyes raking over Jace's features. His golden blonde hair was a near match to Valentine's snow blonde. The hard set of his mouth . . . the indifference and defiance in his eyes. Michael, he had had such warm and welcoming eyes. As her husband's parabatai, she had gotten to know him really well—better than even her husband had known him. She shook her head. All the same, "You never looked like Michael, you know." She focused on Jace's blonde mop of hair again. Michael had had dark curls. "But sometimes children don't look like their parents," she continued, meeting his golden eyes that looked nothing like Michael's deep brown ones. "I didn't think about it before. But now I can see Valentine in you. The way you're looking at me. That defiance. You don't care what I say, do you?"

Jace stared at her speculatively. Almost as if he was doing this merely to amuse her. "Would it make a difference if I did?" he finally asked, his brow raising. _Of course it would!_ She wanted to scream at him. But it didn't matter, because that look on his face was enough to tell her that he really _didn't_ care. He didn't care at all. She bit back on her anger as she picked up her glass and then remembering it was empty, she set it back down.

"And you answer question's with question's to throw me off," she pointed out with a forced calmness, refusing to let him get to her. "Just like Valentine always did. Maybe I should have known."

"Maybe nothing." Jace snapped, and Maryse looked up in surprise to see the crack in Jace's visage. "I'm still exactly the same person I've been for the past seven years. Nothing's changed about me. If I didn't remind you of Valentine before, I don't see why I would now."

Maryse tapped her finger absently on the desk as she looked at him, and then past him. If she stared to long, she could see the scared ten year old boy. The boy she had never sang to directly, but had spent many nights sitting with as he stared expressionless up at the ceiling before falling to sleep. The boy who could make her laugh when no one else could. He was staring fixedly at her with those eyes that begged to be believed, and her heart splintered. She could feel the fissure making its way down with each beat. But how many times had he been being dishonest with those deceivingly honest eyes? A trait learned from Valentine no doubt. In fact, Valentine and Michael were so completely opposite. Michael was good, and kind, and even though Robert and him and grown apart due to Michael's admittance of his feelings for Robert, he was a great man. There was no way that during Valentine's time of hiding, he had taken on Michaels qualities. Valentine was too proud, and stubborn, and unmoving. "Surely," she said quietly, "when we talked about Michael, you must have known we couldn't possibly have meant your father. The things we said about him could have never applied to Valentine." She looked at him now, willing him to understand why this was so hard for her. But he never would. Because he wasn't there at the academy. He didn't know how she had been taken in by his father's lies. How stupid she had been and how terrified she was of being duped by him again.

Jace's eyes were narrowed and hard. "You said he was a good man," he said, his calm tone edged with ice. "A brave Shadowhunter. A loving father. I thought that seemed accurate enough."

"What about photographs," she said, and she could here the desperation in her voice as she tried to figure this out. Figure _him_ out. "You must have seen photographs of Michael Wayland and realized he wasn't the man you called your father." She was chewing on her lip now. He lived in the Wayland house. Surely there was something there. A clue as to who they really were—or more, _weren't—_that he must have found. "Help me out here, Jace."

"All the photographs were destroyed in the Uprising. That's what _you_ told me," he added, looking at her angrily. But it was just a wisp of anger that was quickly covered. "Now I wonder if it wasn't because Valentine had them all burned so nobody would know who was in the Circle. I never had a photograph of my father." And she could hear the slight bitterness in his tone. Maryse closed her eyes trying to take it all in, wanting desperately to believe the boy she had raised for seven years . . . but . . . how could she? How could she possibly trust the son of Valentine? Her head was beginning to hurt and she massaged her temples with her thumb and forefinger.

"I cant believe this," she finally said, her voice soft. "It's insane."

She heard him move in his seat, and opened her eyes to see him leaning in and looking at her, his eyes intense and beseeching. "So don't believe it," he said, his voice pained. "Believe _me."_

"Don't you think I _want_ to?" she asked, dropping her hand as she looked back steadily at the boy. She _did _ want to. She so ridiculously and desperately wanted to that it hurt her. It physically and emotionally hurt her. Because she didn't. She couldn't. The last time she had trusted a Morgenstern it had—she shook her head.

"I didn't know," Jace said again, but this time she could here the plea in his voice that she hadn't heard the last time. "And when he asked me to come back to Idris, I said no." He leaned forward, his hands on the desk now. "I'm still here. Doesn't that count for anything?"

She pulled her eyes away from his. She had to. She knew she might cave if she didn't. Instead she stared at the paperwork on the desk, the plants that had once been Hodge's obsession, and the decanter of wine. She wished for the second time that there was something stronger in it. He was Valentine's son, and like Valentine, she couldn't discount his persuasiveness. She couldn't be fooled again. Because this time, it wasn't just her and Robert who would be hurt. It would be her children—her children who were already attached to Jace—her son, who was attached to him more than anyone else as his _parabatai. _What would happen to them? What would Valentine do to them through Jace? "I wish it did," she breathed quietly. "But there are so many reason's your father might want you to remain at the Institute." And then she met his eyes. "Where Valentine is concerned, I can't afford to trust anyone his influence has touched."

"His influence touched you."

Maryse's jaw locked as a pain so deep twisted her features. She looked at the boy sitting across from her, and even now, she knew he had not intended to say as an insult but to make a point. But she didn't need that point made. She, maybe better than anyone, remembered what his influence did to people. She had been the reason they were apart of the Circle at all. Robert only joined because of her. It was because of _that_ decision that they had been exiled, that her marriage suffered—suffers still, that their name was blackened, and that she became untrusted. With every trip to Alicante, she heard the whispers even now as she passed others. She saw the pointing and felt the stares. She still woke with silent screams on her lips as night after night the images of Shadowhunters and Downworlders dying around her plagued her dreams—those she killed and those her husband had killed. She lived with the "what if's" and the "if only's." _That_ is what Valentine's influential touch had done to her—had cost her. And she had no one to blame but herself, because she had followed him. Because she had been swayed and charmed by his visions. But she had also laid down her sword. And when she had learned the truth about Valentine abandoning them during battle—learned of that betrayal that had cut her so deep, it would never be healed—she had turned on him. She looked at Jace. Jace, who looked so much like his father. Jace, who she loved like her own son. Jace, who scared her more than she wished he did.

"And _I _repudiated him," she said, her eyes flashing now. "Have you? _Could _you?" Jace looked down, and Maryse's fingers turned the empty glass nervously in her hands. "Tell me you hate him, Jace," she whispered pleadingly. "Tell me you hate that man and everything he stands for."

Silence.

_Tell me,_ she wanted to scream at him. _Tell me you hate him and want nothing to do with him. Tell me you want him dead. _She knew it was an unfair request to ask a child to hate his father. But this wasn't just some man. This was Valentine. She bit her lip as he continued to say nothing. He only just stared at his hands that were now fisted so tightly, his knuckles had turned white. She wanted to shake him. "I can't say that," he said finally, though he still didn't look up.

Maryse let out a breath, her heart completely crumbling. _"Why not?"_

And then his eyes shot up. "Why can't you say that you trust me?" he demanded, but she could hear the pain lining his anger. "I've lived with you almost half my life. Surely you must know me better than that."

_Why? Because, Jace, I know your father. And that man was a liar who taught his son to be a liar._ Maryse sighed and her shoulders slumped. Out loud she said, "You sound so honest, Jonathan. You always have, even when you were a little boy trying to pin the blame for something you'd done wrong on Isabelle or Alec." A sad smile played on her lips at the memory, but it quickly vanished. "I've only ever met one person who could sound as persuasive as you."

"You mean my father," Jace said dryly.

Maryse nodded. "There were only ever two kinds of people in the world for Valentine," she said. "Those who were for the Circle and those who were against it. The latter were enemies, and the former were weapons in his arsenal. I saw him try to turn each of his friends, even his own wife, into a weapon for the Cause—and you want me to believe that he wouldn't have done the same with his own son?" She looked at the boy sitting in front of her and shook her head. "I knew him better than that." He would use Jace. Use Jace and his sister both. She knew this, and so did anyone who might have escaped the Circle alive. Her heart dropped as she looked at the him. "You are an arrow shot directly into the heart of the Clave, Jace. You are Valentine's arrow. Whether you know it or not."


	3. Well Isn't This Fan-fucking-Tastic

**~Chapter** **Two~**

**Well Isn't This Fan-****_fucking-_****Tastic**

Clothes, knives, seraph blades—all of them were flying through the air as Jace tossed them angrily over his shoulder. He was standing in his closet, his chest heaving with anger. An arrow, Maryse had called him. Valenitne's _fucking_ arrow. He had thought that he had been hurt before, but . . . to see that look on her face. To know that it didn't matter what he said, how long she had raised him, or the fact that he had not gone back to Idris with his father—she wouldn't believe him. At all. He was only "Valentine's son" to her now. Not Jace. Not the boy who could make her laugh. Not her son's _parabatai._ Just an arrow. An untrustworthy, rapidly shot, arrow that was no longer allowed to stay at the Institute. She had kicked him out with the belief that it was for the best, as there was no way he couldn't have been involved and aware of Valentine's plans. He clenched his teeth, his hand striking forward. He barely felt the blow of his fist connecting with the wall, or the cuts as it broke through leaving a large hole. His knuckles were bloody when he removed his hand, but he ignored it.

Jace had said nothing to Maryse after she had told him to leave. He didn't argue or beg. And if she had wanted him to, then she had been seriously disappointed. Instead he had gotten up and left the library without another word to her and went to his room to gather his things. He had thought about calling Clary, but she had been avoiding him since the fiasco at the hospital with her—_their—_mother. That or she was still angry with him. Either way, he had discarded the idea as soon as he had thought about it. Besides, he didn't know if he could handle being around her yet. It still hurt to think about her, and he was already in enough pain. He had no where to go, but he had to get out. The woman he had always secretly thought of as a mother—the woman who had turned her back on him now when he needed her, said so. He bit the inside of his cheek unable to decide what he was going to do. All he knew was that he was angry; nicht glücklich; _enfadado;_ _livide . . . _he could go on and on in several different languages—not that it helped. What _would_ help would be to hit something. Jace stared at the hole he had created inside the closet and frowned. Preferably something that hit back. As he turned around, he saw the disaster his room had become. This was a first. Usually he was so organized and neat. Right now he didn't care.

Valentine's arrow was saying, _fuck his room._

Besides, it wasn't _his _room anymore. Bending down, he plucked up a few blades before tossing them back on the ground. He wouldn't take anything that the Lightwood's had given him. He then grabbed the stele off the nightstand and, sitting on his bed, began to draw the swirling Marks on his arms. When they were both covered, he pulled up his t-shirt, holding it with his teeth, and began slicing the runes into his abdomen and chest where he could find a spot. He was not gentle with himself, and he reveled in the feel of pain the stele caused. When he was done, he tossed it back on the nightstand, refusing to take it with him as well. Reaching inside the closet, he pulled a long trench coat from the hanger and then headed out the door.

In the hallway, he was very careful not to make a sound. The Silence rune also helped with that, and he was able to make it to the stairs easily without alerting Alec or Isabelle—who he was sure were on the look out for him. He had been informed by Maryse that he was not to say goodbye anyway, and that if he had truly cared about his _parabatai _at all, he would just go and not make a scene. He had had to bite his cheek to keep from retorting on that one. Because at that point, she was insinuating that he had only become Alec's _parabatai _because he wanted to get closer to the family on Valentine's orders. He walked down the empty stairs swiftly. He had almost taken the elevator, but while the runes on his skin helped to make him move more stealthily, it did nothing for the clanking off the lift. He bit the inside of his cheek as he crossed the front foyer towards the door and out into the night. At the curb, he looked up at the magnificent building that had been his home for the past seven years. The place that had become his sanctuary, his heart breaking. And then he turned and walked away.

He didn't stop walking until he could no longer see the Institute.

After turning up yet another street, he finally slowed and took a deep breath. Deep—not fresh. He could smell the trash of a nearby ally, and the stink of the sewage steaming up from the grates. Ahh, New York—the Big Apple that smelt like anything but. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he continued walking. A monster was forming in the pit of his stomach, and it was feeding on his anger. And Jace was more than happy to keep feeding it. His father had known this would happen, he realized. His father had told him and Clary—his heart clenched at the thought of her name—that it was only under the belief that Jace was a Wayland, that the Lightwood's had loved him. Clary, Alec, and Isabelle, had all said it wasn't true. That it didn't matter who he was. But how could he believe that now after Maryse had acted the way she did? He was always going to be an outcast here. Maybe he _should_ have left with his father. Jace sighed. Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't an option. Not because Valentine was a horrible person. Not because it would mark him as a traitor. And not because he wanted so desperately to be somewhere where someone wanted him. No, it wasn't an option because Clary didn't want him to go. She had asked him to stay and he would do anything she asked. Even now. Even though he couldn't have her.

The streetlights cast a glow around Jace as he walked between light and dark. He didn't want to think about Clary anymore—not that he had a choice. She was always on his mind. Always. Only when he was fighting was he free of her. But now he thought about Maryse, too. How could she have cast him out like that? How could she not believe him? She had even gone as far as to suggest that he had helped his father get away with the Mortal Cup. Jace bit the inside of his cheek, his fist clenching. When he had first come into the library, he had asked her about the song she used to sing to Isabelle and Alec, and she had seemed taken back by it. At the time he wasn't sure why he had brought it up. It wasn't until he pressed the issue that he realized that it wasn't so much about the fact that she didn't sing to him—but what the fact that she never sang to him meant. She had never really considered him apart of her family. Always an outcast. He chewed on that as he jumped off the curb and crossed the darkened street. In the distance he could hear the screech of car tires and the blaring of a horn. Jace shook his head. He had asked Alec and Isabelle once why their mother sang the French song, but Alec had only shrugged. He and Isabelle hadn't learned to speak fluent French yet, so they hadn't even known what the song was about at the time. But Jace did. He had been taught to learn French at a very young age—before his father's false murder. _"It has a pretty melody, though,"_ Isabelle had said. _"Romantic,_" she had called it. If she had known the meaning of the lyrics, she may have thought differently. And then, as if against his will, Jace was humming it. And then he was singing it.

"À la claire fontaine,  
>M'en allant promener<br>J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle  
>Que je m'y suis baigné<p>

Il y a longtemps que je t'aime  
>Jamais je ne t'oublierai<p>

Sous les feuilles d'un chêne,  
>Je me suis fait sécher<br>Sur la plus haute branche,  
>Un rossignol chantait<p>

Il y a longtemps que je t'aime  
>Jamais je ne t'oublierai<p>

Chante rossignol, chante,  
>Toi qui as le cœur gai<br>Tu as le cœur à rire,  
>Moi je l'ai à pleurer . . ."<p>

_Wasn't that the truth? _He thought dryly. And it hurt it like a bitch. If only Maryse had thought to sing this song now. How fitting would it be then? Who knew, maybe she _was_ singing it now. The sound of talking tore Jace away from his thoughts and he looked up. Up ahead a few werewolves were standing outside a bar, smoking and laughing. Jace cocked his head as he read the sign that hung over the dive. The Hunter's Moon. Clever. Clever and full of wolves, Jace realized as his adrenaline kicked up. Suddenly he felt thirsty. He needed a drink. A drink and a good bar fight.

Bringing himself up to his full height, Jace arranged his features as he walked past the large wolf-men toward the door. Both stopped talking to look at him, one with his cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Jace let his lips tick upward with confidence as he begged silently for one of the wolves to try to stop him from entering. Neither did. And then he couldn't help but to think of Luke, and wonder if he drank. Who knows, maybe he was even here. Pushing open the door reminded him of the old western movies where the guy walks into a bar and everyone stops and stares. Jace squared his shoulders, a bored smirk on his face as he passed the tables full of patrons. Luke wasn't one of them. He could hear their whispering. Feel their stares. This was going to be fun. Without so much as moving his head, he tallied the amount of werewolves in there. Who was it going to be? Who was going to get brave?

Taking a seat at the bar on an old worn red leather stool, he leaned forward with his elbows digging into the old oak wood countertop. "Single Malt Whiskey," he said as the bartender, a large grizzled man, ambled over to him. This was a wolf who had been around awhile and had seen some things, he thought as the wolf-man set the glass of amber liquid in front of him. Taking the glass, he brought it to his lips and flipped it back, drinking half of it before setting it back down. The smooth golden liquid slid down his throat and warmed his stomach instantly. Licking his lips, Jace looked up and down the bar. Everyone was still staring at him, but he ignored it. The bar itself wasn't too bad, Jace thought, turning the glass in his hands. Though it wasn't that great either. Out dated and definitely not somewhere one might take a date . . . unless she was fond of wet-dog scent. His stomach twisted then as he realized that Clary might be fascinated by this place. Biting the inside of his cheek, he looked over at the bartender. "I take it," he called out to the wolf-man, desperate for a distraction, "that you don't serve silver bullet here. Too many bad associations?" He could hear the hissing around him, and he grinned. _Come on, then, _he thought. The bartender, who was cleaning a glass shook his head no, but said nothing. Disappointing, he thought picking up his glass.

"Actually," said a voice, though all Jace heard was, _bingo, _"we don't serve it because it's a really crappy beer." Jace turned slowly to the large werewolf sitting on the stool next to him. He had a thick scar running down his face—more of a burn really—and on any other night Jace might have asked him how he got it. Tonight, however, he didn't care. Tonight, he was just glad that this guy looked quite capable of holding his own. And then Jace was smiling. He wanted someone who could hold their own. It would suck if they went down before Jace was done playing. And, oh, how he wanted to play. He may not be good at much else, but he was really good at playing with dogs.

"And what are _you_ drinking?" Jace asked, purposely leaning in rather close to the wolf as his adrenaline began to pulse. The wolf-boy looked taken back by Jace's boundary issues, but didn't move away. "A little hair of the dog that bit—well," Jace looked around for added effect, "everyone?"

"You really think you're pretty funny," the wolf said flatly, as Jace straightened back up. "Don't you."

Jace grinned. _Why yes, yes I do._ But right now, it wasn't humor he was going for and the wolf knew it. Another voice rang out then. It might have been female. "Bat," it said, and Jace looked past the large wolf to another wolf. Her face was blurred slightly, but she was definitely female. He wouldn't have been able to tell you if she was attractive or not, and quite frankly he didn't care. He moved his eyes back to the large wolf boy just as the female said, "Don't."

_Oh, please do, _Jace thought looking back at the boy and considering his question again. _Am I funny?_ _Well . . ._ "Who am I to deny the obvious?" Jace said out loud, as the boy glared. His scar really was massive. And what had the female pup nearby called him? Bat? That couldn't possibly be his name, could it? A wolf-bat? Jace snorted and decided he would ask about the scar after all. "I don't suppose you'd like to tell me what happened to your face? It looks like—" Jace leaned in conspiratorially, grinning wide at the wolf boy as he said in a low voice, "—some kind of silver demon jerked off on your face. You didn't like it did you? Kinky—"

Jace saw it coming as if in slow motion. He grinned manically as the wolf jerked his arm back and then snapped it forward, but Jace had already turned and vacated his seat. When time sped back up, the wolf was hitting the glass of Scotch and sending it flying. Jace started laughing, a high, cruel laugh, as the glass shattered against the wall. And he laughed again as the wolf looked on in shock to where he stood now. _Come get me,_ he begged. He wanted the wolf to lunge. To attack. He wanted to fight. But as the bat-wolf stood, the large crazy looking bartender was already around the counter and grabbing at the pup. "Bat," _So his name _is _Bat. Curious. _"Why don't you take a walk and calm down."

Jace frowned. He wished that the bar-wolf would just mind his own fucking business and stop interrupting his play time. Bat twisted in the large wolf's grasp, his eyes shooting daggers at Jace who grinned mockingly in return. "Take a _walk?"_ Bat gasped, trying to get free. _Oh, do let him go free. _"Did you hear—"

"I heard," the large bartender said unhappily, throwing a look of disgust at Jace. "He's a Shadowhunter. Walk it off, cub."

"This is fucking bullshit," Bat grumbled, finally pulling free of the large wolf. Turning he stalked to the door and away from Jace, who frowned and watched him go with disappointment. Jace turned to the bartender angrily. He could have handled his own—the _cub_ could have handled his own. There was no need for the interference. Jace could feel his face darkening the longer he thought about it. He wanted the fight—_needed_ it, and here this freaky-faced motherfucker was taking that away from him. He couldn't hold back his anger now, and he could feel it bubbling over.

"That wasn't necessary," he snapped at the bartender. "I can handle myself."

The bartender stopped and looked at Jace as if he wanted to say something insulting. Jace welcomed it—hoped for it even. But then the large wolf shook his head as if deciding against it. "It's my bar I'm worried about." And then he met Jace's eyes. "You might want to take your business elsewhere, Shadowhunter, if you don't want any trouble."

Jace took a breath and waited for his anger to go back down to a manageable level. Once there, he let a smile form on his lips. "I didn't say I didn't want trouble," he said and then purposely strode back to his stool. And he _wasn't_ leaving. He wasn't leaving until he got his fight. He was an arrow, and arrows were used to fight. He would fight. He would fight and fight and fight until there was either no one left to fight or he lay dead. "Besides," he continued, indicating the spot his alcohol once sat "I didn't get to finish my drink."

"Looks like you finished it to me." Said one of the wolves, and it took a second to realize that it was the female with the blurry face. Why was she blurry? he wondered. He hadn't actually drunk that much, and he was not exactly a light weight. If Clary were here, would she be blurry too? And then he knew she wouldn't be. She would be as clear as the sun. And he knew it that because, right or wrong, he was in love with her. He had tried not to be. He didn't _want_ to be. But he was. And so he would always see her clearly. His heart twisted painfully. This female wolf on the other hand . . . was she really blurry because he had no interest in actually seeing her? Ha! That was just fucking awesome. Jace could feel deranged laughter bubbling up his chest and he had to bite it down.

"Here you go."

Jace blinked and looked down at the new glass of Scotch in front of him, the bartender walking away. He also realized he was smiling, and he wondered if he looked in the mirror whether it would be a winning smile, or a terrifyingly maniacal one. Yeah . . . he probably looked psychotic. He felt psychotic. He felt like he was completely losing it after having lost it all. Clary, the Institute, his father (twice), and his family—Alec, Isabelle, Max, Robert, and yes . . . even though she had kicked him out, he missed Maryse. He bit down on his cheek as he stared at the drink, deciding it was best to not look at the mirror that lined the bar.

Bringing the glass to his lips, he took a sip just as the door behind him banged open. Jace didn't look up, but he could hear the commotion of the wolves being stirred into a frenzy. The blurry female cried out and ran off, and he could hear the other wolves getting to their feet as well. He took another drink, the amber liquid warming him even though he already felt hot. He listened in on the conversations of those around him, and he heard everything. An attack, a dead wolf in the ally, the female's concern. Jace bent his head over his drink as more and more chairs began to scrape along the wood floor in their haste of getting up. Jace just listened, his fingers tightening around his drink. He would be lying if he said a part of him wasn't curious. But the other part of him—the larger part—didn't care. He only came here in search of a fight and it seemed like everything and everyone was trying their damnedest to make sure it didn't happen.

Jace heard more. A cut throat; still alive—but only barely; died not long after he was found; a shadow crouching over the dead wolf. "He died without saying anything," he heard Bat telling his audience.

"Vampires," another werewolf spoke, though male or female, Jace wasn't sure. He only hoped it was right. How incredibly fortunate would it be for a guy looking for a fight to find himself in the middle of a blood war? "The Night Children. It can't have been anything else."

Jace took a sip of his drink as the pack of dogs went quiet. Setting it down softly, he pushed his hair out of his face and then listened to the thundering steps that were getting closer to him. He felt his lips tick upward as he waited. He knew the steps were coming for him. He knew that as a Shadowhunter, they would want him to do something about it, and he knew denying them would goad them into a fight. He also knew it was Bat making those thunderous foot steps. And then Jace spun with lightning quickness. He could see as he turned, the outstretching of Bat's hand and the shock on his face to find the stool empty. But the wolf recovered quickly and turned to face Jace, there bodies only inches from one another. "What's your problem, werewolf?" Jace asked, his tone calm but bordered with ice as his brow raised.

The wolf glared at him, and Jace felt his adrenaline kick up another notch. "Are you deaf, Nephilim?" the wolf growled, holding his ground. "There's a dead boy in the ally. One of ours."

Jace regarded the wolf curiously and with open amusement.

"Do you mean a lycanthrope or some other sort of Downworlder?" he asked, knowing full well what the werewolf had meant. He merely wanted to incense the boy further. "You all blend in together to me," he said with a sensible pointedness that immediately pissed off everyone around him. Jace looked up to see that one of the wolves that was growling was the bartender, who only moments before had been playing peacekeeper. _About damned time too,_ Jace thought. No one who looked that gnarled could possibly have always tried to keep the peace.

"He was only a cub," the large gnarled wolf growled with a twinge of sadness that Jace had to ignore. "His name was Joseph." And then he felt it—Jace felt the undercurrent of rippling skin and tension as every wolf in the room readied themselves to take action. Jace grinned. He wanted action. He wanted to push them like he had been pushed. Anger them like he had been angered. And keep pushing he would. He met the crazy bartender's eyes with a smile still on his face as his body tensed and readied itself for the same action. He loved that feeling.

"A lycanthrope boy?" He asked bored.

"He was one of the pack," the bartender nodded, mistaking his question for concern. _Well we can't have that, now can we? _Jace thought as the wolf continued. "He was only fifteen."

Jace looked around, meeting each wolf's gaze one by one. There were a lot of blurry faces, he noted to his own amusement. Awesome. He wasn't allowed to be in love the girl he was in love with, but he couldn't move on unless he wanted to content himself with looking at some blurry faced flesh sack instead. Spec-_fucking-_tacular.

He shook his head, a small chuckle escaping his lips. "And what exactly do you expect me to do about it?"

"You're Nephilim," the bar-wolf growled with incredulity. He pointed at Jace. "The Clave owes us protection in these circumstances."

Jace felt his body convulse as a snort of laughter tried to escape. _Protection?_ He looked around the bar once more. _Let's see; fangs, fangs, claws, wolf; bark, bark, bark, bark . . . yup, all werewolves._ He turned a gleaming eye back on the bartender. "I don't see anything you need protecting from here," he mused. And then his eyes fell on his cracked red leather seat, the old bar, and the 1970s wood paneling on the wall. "Except some bad decor and a possible mold problem. But you can usually clear that up with bleach." Jace looked back comfortably at Bat, who was still standing quite close, and saw his eyes flash—the wolf inside roaring to come out.

"There's a _dead body _outside this bar's front door," the wolf boy said through clenched teeth. "Don't you think—"

"I think it's a little too late for him to need protection," Jace said mockingly, his brows raised, "if he's already dead."

"You want to be careful, Nephilim." Said a gruff voice, and Jace turned to see the bartender glaring back hard with pointed ears and sharp canines protruding. "You want to be very careful."

"Do I?" Jace asked, his eyes expressionless now. _No, I don't think I do._

"So you're going to do nothing?" Bat spit out angrily. "Is that it?"

Jace eyed the large wolf-cub speculatively, a smile playing on his lips. He then looked at his glass of Scotch sitting on the counter. "I'm going to finish my drink," he said, turning back to the bar and knowing full well that he had no intention of doing that at all. "If you'll let me." Jace knew that the wolf could hear the challenge in his tone. _Come on, puppy. Pounce already._

Bat crossed his arms instead just as the bartender spoke up. "So that's the attitude of the Clave, a week after the Accords? The death of Downworlders is nothing to you?"

Jace grinned. He grinned a smile so wide as he stared back at the bartender that he could hear the intake of breaths and whispers that raced through the wolves around him. "How like Downworlders," he said with calm anger, the grin still on his face, "expecting the Clave to clean up your mess for you. As if we could be bothered just because some stupid cub decided to splatter-paint himself all over your ally like a _lycaon_ would a whore."

And time slowed as Bat lunged at Jace. He knew he shouldn't have said it. Knew that it was the insult above all insults where werewolves were concerned. But he also knew that _that _would be the icing on the cake and he just didn't care. It had once been the name of a man in the greek mythology—a man punished into the form of a wolf long ago. But it was because of what the man had done—and the amount of children he had sired with human women _as a wolf_—that was the reason it was now associated as something filthy. A term used to describe a wolf, a human girl, and a whole lot of kinky. A kinky that not all the human girls survived. Some people and their fetishes. And Jace enjoyed every shocked and disgusted face he knew it had caused as he ducked out of Bat's way and jumped up onto the counter with lightning speed. The large wolf stumbled, his large fist flailing as he punched at the air. Slowly every set of beady eyes ticked up to look at him. He was standing with his feet shoulder width apart, his hands at his sides as he looked down at them all. He could see the slow changes in each of them. Even the women he could see now as they allowed their beastial side to take over. The elongated ears, the pointed teeth—one guy had even become quite furry. And all of them were growling, their jaws snapping. His lips curved upward at the prospect of the fight looming in front of him. Slowly he reached his hands forward, a smirk on his face, as he beckoned each and every one of them to him. Daring them to try. Hoping they would.

And they did.

Jace watched with satisfaction as they all rushed at him. Two of them, Bat and one other, scrambled up onto the bar. He waited until they had their feet were planted before he spun himself quickly into a roundhouse kick that connected with both of them. And he heard with glee the resounding crash as one was sent flying into the mirror behind the counter, and the other was sent toppling to the floor. Jace stopped to laugh, and in that moment a large hairy claw circled his ankle and jerked him down into the fray. Jace laughed louder, tucking his body down and immediately pulling free. His heart was racing—his adrenaline pumping. On the ground now, he sank low, and began to strike out at whoever was closest while those closest struck back at him. He felt a blow across his face and he sent the one responsible bowling into three others. He turned, laughing still, as another ran their claw along his cheek. He grinned, biting into the pain, reveling in it, as he struck out at yet another wolf. And another. They kept coming, and Jace kept laughing. He knew he was bordering some kind of break—that he was completely losing it. He didn't care. Jerking back his leg, Jace shot his foot forward connecting with the chest of the large bartender just as he was jerked back. He felt the knife at his throat.

_"_Do it," Jace growled through his deranged laughter. But the hand holding the blade hesitated. _"_Come on_, do it!"_

"That's enough."

And Jace sighed. He knew that voice. And so did, it seemed, his adversaries. One by one they all slunk away, all of them except the wolf holding Jace with the knife, and he could see Luke standing at the door. He looked more ravaged than the last time he had seen him—which was saying something, seeing as how the last time Jace had seen him, he had just about been killed by Valentine. Luke was holding the wall as if for support, but his eyes were steady as he looked at Jace. He also knew that Luke was the leader of a pack here in New York, but he wasn't sure that everyone here was in said pack. The wolf holding tightly to him, sure didn't seem to be listening. "That's enough," Luke said again, looking past Jace now and to the wolf with the knife. "Leave the boy alone."

Even now, Jace bristled at being called a boy, just as he felt the hand on him tighten—cutting into his jacket and skin. "He's not a boy," the wolf growled back at Luke. _Ha! Was that Bat? Go figure,_ Jace thought with amusement. He had been right. The wolf-boy _could_ hold his own. "He's a Shadowhunter."

_Damn skippy, _Jace thought. But Luke looked unimpressed. And tired. Really tired. "They're welcome enough here," he said calmly. "They are our allies." And Jace heard the inflection in his tone that suggested that those last words had been more of a reminder to _him_ than to the wolves. Jace grinned.

"He said it didn't matter," Bat argued. "About Joseph—"

"I know," Luke cut him off, his eyes flickering to Jace. He knew? How on earth . . . Jace's eyes narrowed. Someone must have tipped him off. _Assholes_. But Luke only sighed. "Did you come in here just to pick a fight, Jace Wayland?"

Well, he wasn't going to deny it if that's what he was hoping for. Jace's smile widened and he felt his split lip stretch painfully. He ignored it. "Luke," he grinned in way of greeting. And then he stumbled slightly as he was suddenly released. He turned to see the shock on Bat's face as he looked from Jace to Luke.

"I didn't know—" Bat stuttered, but Luke was already waving him off.

"There's nothing _to_ know," he said just as the bartender stepped forward. He was rubbing his chest and glaring at Jace, who grinned broadly back. _I have a gloriously swift kick, don't I? _He thought amusedly.

"He said," the gnarled wolf pointed at Jace, "they wouldn't care about the death of a single lycanthrope, even a child." _I most certainly did not! _Jace thought, but even as he thought it, he could feel the insane laughter bubbling in his chest again. _Well, maybe not in those words. _The bartender continued, "And it's a week after the Accords, Luke."

"Jace doesn't speak for the Clave," Luke said, still with that air of calmness. Jace, however felt himself blanch and he bit on the inside of his cheek. The storm that had been brewing in his chest since leaving the Institute—the one that he had managed to relieve slightly with the bar fight—was now swirling and writhing again. "And there's nothing he could have done even if he'd wanted to," Luke continued, meeting Jace's eyes. "Isn't that right?"

Jace stared hard at Luke and felt his body begin to tremble. He didn't like the look he was giving him. A knowing sort of look. But how could he . . . he shook his head. No. He had to be talking about something else. Not about how he was kicked unceremoniously out of the Institute. Nobody knew about that. At least he didn't think anyone would know. Not for a while anyway. So did that mean that Luke was suggesting that he, Jace, lacked the ability to save a single stupid werewolf? Now he was insulted. "How do you—"

"I know what happened," Luke cut him off, his eyes steady. "With Maryse."

And then Jace felt his walls crumbling as his whole body stiffened. He knew about that. He knew. Jace shook his head again. It had only been a few hours, maybe. And Luke was a Downworlder. Jace tasted the copper of his blood in his mouth as he bit down hard on his cheek, his hands balled into fists as his heart jackhammered painfully. "Who told you?" he demanded. How could a Downworlder possibly know? And then it hit him like a mack truck. Who the hell else would tell Luke? Just thinking of her was painful, but he forced himself to say her name. "Clary?" He could hear the tenderness in his voice as he said her name and he cringed inwardly, hoping that no one else did.

Luke looked at him, his eyes showing pity. Jace hated pity. But the look also implied that he knew how Jace felt, and that pissed him off more than the pity. "Not Clary." He said her name just as tenderly. "I'm the pack leader, Jace. I hear things." Luke looked up and around the bar, his eyes fixing on something near the back. "Now come on. Let's go to Pete's office and talk."

Jace looked at Luke. Clary's Luke—the man that was a father to her. The man that was a Downworlder to him. A werewolf pack leader. But Clary trusted him. Trusted and loved him. Maybe he could possibly—he took a breath as he looked at the bartender. He wouldn't have pegged him as a Pete. "Fine," he shrugged, putting his wall back up. "But you owe me for the Scotch I didn't drink."

Luke rolled his eyes. "You don't need to be drinking anyway." He took a step forward and Jace noticed that he held onto everything in reach with each step. He frowned. Was he injured? Was Clary okay? His mind begin to pace a mile a minute with questions. But he didn't ask them. He only turned and followed the pack leader as he made his way toward the back. Around them, Jace heard the angry whispers—no, not whispers—they were out right saying whatever nasty thing it was they had to say about him. Jace forced a smile in return. He really didn't care what the wolves thought of him. The noise died down, however, as they entered a back hallway that held three doors. Two of them were bathrooms and the other, Luke was holding open. Jace stepped swiftly inside.

It would seem that the 1970s decor was a staple throughout the building. In front of him, a large desk covered in papers and an old TV set sat. Jace walked around it, casually rifling through the papers, and then knocking some of them to the floor just to spite the bartender, before throwing himself in the large cracked brown leather chair—which he wasn't expecting to have wheels.

"Oh!" He cried out involuntarily, his heart pounding as the chair tilted and rolled backwards. Luke's lips tick upward, his brow raising.

"Catch you off guard, there?" he asked with amusement.

"Off guard?" Jace asked with mock terror, righting himself. "If you can call a mini heart attack being 'caught off guard' then sure, I was caught off guard."

Luke shook his head and closed the door. "A mini heart attack?" he asked taking a seat in one of the chairs closest to him.

"Yes!" Jace cried out with false devastation as he sat up, his brows knitting together. "Can you imagine? I mean, to have lived through that battle of the wolves only to be nearly bested by a chair on wheels . . . ? The horror of it all! Think of the shame, Luke! _Think of the shame!_ I would have never lived it down." Jace could feel the hardness in his eyes though his tone was light and playful. "_And_," he continued, pointedly. "it would have completely killed my chances of becoming a stone column at the City of Bones—_which_ I have such high hopes of doing. Granted," he added, his face twisting up with mock speculation. "Being the arrow of Valentine might have ruined that chance anyway." He saw the confusion cross Luke's face, but he ignored it. He could also feel himself cracking, but he couldn't stop that either. His heart was pounding and his fists were convulsing as he went on. "The Silent Brothers—I think they might frown on spawns of Valentine being added to the columns of great Shadowhunters. And here I had planned to have an engraving and everything! Want to here it? _Jace once was awesome, now he's_—"

"Clary warned me about this." Luke cut him off, massaging his temples. Jace blinked, his mouth hanging open.

"Warned you about what?" He asked, recovering himself as he kicked his feet casually up on the desk. "I thought you said you didn't talk to her."

"I didn't," Luke said. "At the hospital after you left, she told me quite a bit about you—and not me, really, but your mother. She said that when your upset, you put up this—" Luke gestured at all of him, "—this front. This act that you don't care, when really you do."

Jace bit the inside of his cheek. Of course she did, he thought bitterly. She understood him better than anyone. Even Alec didn't understand him as well as she did, which was saying something. All the same, Jace refused to let the wolf leader know that he had gotten to him. He smiled. "So I guess you don't want to hear my poem?"

Luke sighed. "Not really," he exhaled. "Jace, I know you're upset. Maryse, she . . ." his eyes narrowed and he shook his head. "What happened exactly? And what did you mean when you called yourself the arrow of Valentine?"

Jace grinned wider. "Don't you know?" he asked. "No, of course you don't. You only _hear _things, isn't that right? Isn't that what you said? Just like you probably only _heard_ that I wasn't at the Institute anymore." Jace placed his hands behind his head as he looked at Luke. The big bad pack leader. The man-wolf that his father had wanted to kill. The once upon a time Shadowhunter. Jace shook his head, a smirk still on his lips. "My guess is that you don't know shit, or you wouldn't be asking. And quite frankly, I'm too tired to talk about it." Jace made a production of yawning and stretching his sore arms out. "Sorry."

"Jace . . ."

"Let me rephrase," Jace said removing his legs from the desk and leaning forward. "I don't _want_ to talk about it."

Luke sighed. "Jace if you would just—"

_"Woof."_ Jace barked, and Luke jerked back looking bewildered.

"What?" he asked slowly. "Did you just bark—?"

_"Woof, woof. Bark, bark, bow-wow." _Jace continued on, his eyes hard but his lips turned upward as he glared at the wolf defiantly. _"Arf?"_

"You're kidding me, right?" Luke asked with tired incredulity.

"Well," Jace said, "I seem to remember telling you I don't want to talk about it. And you seem to want to push the subject. So I figured that if I tried to talk to you in your own language, you might hear what I'm saying. Why, was I a little off? I have yet to really learn werewolf—not that I haven't been wanting to." When Luke said nothing, Jace sighed and looked at the pack leader. He wasn't sure why he was acting like this. He wasn't sure why he had even come to the bar in the first place. He had thought it would be for the fight, but now that he was here with Luke . . . he wasn't sure if that was the only reason. Luke knew his father. Luke had been exiled. Maybe, just maybe, Luke could understand—Jace shook his head. No one understood. "Leave me alone Luke. I don't need you here. I don't need anyone. And I certainly don't want to talk to a _Downworlder_ about anything."

"Well, I can't having you beating the shit out of half my pack," Luke countered, ignoring the jab.

"Oh, that was nothing," Jace shrugged innocently. "Just a guy playing with his _dogs_. But it was all in good fun."

"Looked like it," Luke stated dryly. "And the bruises, the cuts—that was all in good fun too? The broken mirror and barstools—all in good fun? You could have gotten yourself killed, Jace."

_Did you ever think that that might have been the plan? _Jace thought idly. Instead, he said, "Yup, all in good fun. Now if you could kindly just fuck right off—"

Luke got to his feet. "Stay here," he said walking to the door.

"Excuse me?" Jace said irritably, his brows knitting as he began getting up. Was a Downworlder really trying to tell him—

"I said stay here," Luke growled, the pack leader in him coming out, as he rounded on Jace. He bit the inside of his cheek angrily and sat back in the chair as he watched the man-wolf leave the room and close the door behind him. _Fine,_ he thought, knocking a picture off the desk and listening to the glass shatter as it hit the floor.

But it wasn't fine. The longer he was alone, the more he began to fidget. He needed to get out of here, but he couldn't get up from the chair. All he could do now was bite down as the memory of Maryse kicking him out of the Institute flooded him. At the memory of finding out Clary was his sister—at staring at his unconscious mother laying in the hospital and being unable to speak. He wasn't sure when he picked up the pencil, but he was squeezing it hard and digging the lead into the desk. What was he going to do, he wondered. What _could_ he do? He had worried that this would happen. That he would be ostracized for his relation to Valentine. Why hadn't he prepared better? Because he was a dumbass. That's why. Because he was stupid enough to believe Alec and Isabelle.

Jace slumped farther into the chair. How long had he been waiting now. Ten minutes? Twenty? What the hell was Luke doing? Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he was starting to feel the aches and pains that were screaming up his body. His lip throbbed where it was split, and when he touched his brow and cheek gently, his fingers came away with blood. He sighed, wondering what Luke could possibly be doing that was taking so long. Whatever it was, if he could hurry up—that'd be great. He chucked the pencil at the wall and watched it bounce off just as the door was thrown open. Snapping his hand forward, he snatched up another pencil and flung it toward the door. He watched as it stuck this time, right next to Luke's head, whose eyes widened with shock. Jace's lips tick upward.

"Sorry, I didn't realize it was you," he said, though really he wasn't sure who else it would have been or who else he could have been expecting. Luke sighed and then gestured to—_Clary. _Luke said something else, but Jace didn't hear what it was. He could only focus on her as she walked in, and he was only vaguely aware of the mundane behind her. Her fiery red curls were bouncing as she turned to look at Simon, and then the mundane looked at her in the same way that _he _wanted to look at her but wasn't allowed. He felt the bite of jealousy worm its way across his chest.

"Unfortunately," Jace cut in, glaring at Simon. "I only had the one pencil."

"Jace," Luke breathed, but Jace didn't care and he didn't want to hear it. He was looking at the stupid mundane now with venom.

"I don't want him here," he said jerking his chin toward Simon. He didn't even remotely want him here. Luke should have known that when he traitorously called Clary in the first place. But neither Simon or Luke spoke. It was Clary who rounded on him, her Idris eyes flashing. He watched, his heart thudding painfully and his adrenaline kicking up as her red curls bounced.

"That's hardly fair," Clary admonished. Jace looked at her, and the way she looked at Simon. _She's come to terms with it,_ he realized. Clary was no longer hung up on the fact that they were related. Not the way he was. Not the way he always would be, and his heart cracked. He bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head and pointed at the door.

"Out, mundane," he demanded, and Clary turned to look at Simon with an apologetic frown. _Oh yes, he's the one to be concerned about, _Jace thought bitterly. But Simon just shook his head, his eyes hardening.

"Its fine," the mundane said. "I'll wait in the hallway." And then Jace saw it—the slight moment of hesitation as Simon took an almost imperceptible step toward Clary like he want to hug or kiss her before he left. But then the mundane's dark eyes met Jace's golden ones.

_Do it and I snap your neck, rat boy._

Simon, seeming to understand, turned and left. Clary watched him go with a sigh. Jace knew this, because he was watching her. It had been so long since he and seen her. One week, three days . . . he used to know the hour and seconds, but then he was kicked out of the Institute and now he had no idea what time it was. Clary rounded on him, the fire back in her emerald eyes. He had missed that.

"Do you have to be so—" She cut herself off, staring at him. And then her eyes softened and he saw the concern in them. The worry. And the fight went out of him completely. His shoulders slumped as he looked up at her apologetically, and tired. But for the first time since he had seen her last, he actually felt a little calmer, too.

"Unpleasant?" He offered when she still hadn't finished her sentence. And then he sighed when she only kept looking at him. He wished she wouldn't look at him like that—like it hurt her to look at him. "Only on days when my adoptive mother tosses me out of the house with instructions never to darken her door again." So she may not have used those exact words, but he believed they got the gist. He shrugged. "Usually, I'm remarkably good-natured. Try me on any day that doesn't end in _y._"

No one spoke then, and even though he knew he shouldn't, Jace met Clary's eyes. He felt his stomach twist and his heart crumble. _Yeah, definitely shouldn't have done that, _he thought. But he didn't drop his eyes because he was a glutton for punishment. He only just looked greedily at her, memorizing her face and her clothes, her hair, her freckles—everything he could. Luke, however, was shaking his head and frowning. "Maryse and Robert are not my favorite people, but I can't believe Maryse would do that."

"You know them?" Jace asked, unable to keep the shock out of his voice as his eyes snapped to Luke's face. "The Lightwoods?"

Luke nodded and leaned back against the door. "They were in the Circle with me," he said. "I was surprised when I heard they were heading the Institute here. It seems they made a deal with the Clave, after the Uprising, to ensure some kind of lenient treatment for themselves, while Hodge—well, we know what happened to him." And then he was quiet for a minute as if thinking about . . . who knew what werewolves thought about. "Did Maryse say why she was exiling you, so to speak?"

Jace looked at Luke. He had told him he didn't want to talk about it, but that was before Clary was here. And he knew that if he refused to answer him, Clary would ask instead. And he still couldn't deny her the truth—not even now. So it was pointless not to answer. _Well played, wolf. Well played._ He sighed. "She doesn't believe that I thought I was Michael Wayland's son. She accused me of being in it with Valentine all along—saying I helped him get away with the Mortal Cup." He winced at the memory and peaked an eye up at Clary, who just looked pissed.

"Then why would you still be here?" she demanded angrily. "Why wouldn't you have fled with him?"

Jace thought about this, but then shook his head. "She wouldn't say, but I suspect she thinks I stayed to be a spy. A viper in their bosoms. Not that she used the word 'bosoms,'" he added. No it had been an arrow she had called him. He shrugged. "But the thought was there."

When he looked up at Luke again, he saw that he was putting it together as well. He had mentioned being an arrow much to Luke's confusion, but now he understood it seemed. He was shaking his head. "A spy for Valentine?" he echoed.

Well, he guessed he would have to go into all of it now. Jace looked at Clary and saw her emerald eyes burning with rage—rage for him and what had been done to him. While he usually hated when people fretted or worried about him, this time it strangely brought him some comfort. "She thinks that Valentine assumed that because of their affection for me, she and Robert would believe whatever I said. So Maryse decided that the solution to that is not to have any affection for me." He could hear the bitterness in his tone now. He was usually so much better at hiding that. Clary looked dismayed. Like she was torn between standing where she was, and rushing forward to hug him. And he wished she would—which is why he hoped she didn't. Luke shook his head again.

"Affection doesn't work like that," he said. "You can't turn it off like a tap. Especially if you're a parent."

"They're not really my parents," Jace interjected irritably.

But Luke only continued to shake his head, and Jace wondered idly if wolves could get whip lash. He was pacing now. "There's more to parentage than blood. They've been your parents for seven years in all the ways that matter. Maryse is just hurt."

Jace blinked in disbelief. Had he just suggested that Maryse . . . that _she_ was the one . . . "Hurt?" he blurted. "_She's _hurt?"

"She loved Valentine," Luke said gently, "remember. As we all did. He hurt her badly. She doesn't want his son to do the same. She worries you've lied to them. That the person she thought you were all these years was a ruse, a trick. You have to reassure her."

I_ have to reassure _her_? _Jace thought in disbelief. Need he remind them that it was_ her _that hadkicked him out? Her who had taken her trust from him?_ What the fuck? I'm supposed to be the child in all this, not the other way around! I'm the one that got screwed here . . . _"Maryse is an adult!" he yelled stubbornly. "She shouldn't need reassurance from me!"

"Oh, come _on_, Jace," Clary snapped, throwing up her hands in frustration. Jace had to bite back on a retort. "You can't wait for perfect behavior from everyone. Adults screw up too. Go back to the Institute and talk to her rationally. Be a man."

That was a low blow, and it hurt. But it also amused him. Jace crossed his arms, staring at her. Be a man? Why do that when he could just sit here and sulk? "I don't want to be a man," he said childishly. "I want to be an angst-ridden teenager who can't confront his own inner demons and takes it out verbally on other people instead." Now _that_ he was excellent at.

"Well, you're doing a fantastic job," Luke said flatly, and he saw the subtle impatience in his eyes.

"Jace," Clary said earnestly, and Jace lifted his brow at the use of his name on her lips. "You have to go back to the Institute. Think about Alec and Izzy, think what this will do to them."

Jace bit on the inside of his cheek. Didn't she think he _had_ thought about that? Didn't she think it was just as equally hard for _him _to be away from his _parabatai?_ From his sister? But . . . "Maryse will make something up to calm them down," he said more gloomily than he had meant to. He wondered if they heard it. "Maybe she'll say I ran off."

"That won't work," Clary said instantly. "Isabelle sounded frantic on the phone."

Jace rolled his eyes. "Isabelle always sounds frantic." All the same, however, he couldn't help the slight warming feeling at knowing that Iz and Alec knew he was gone and were upset about it. But then he sighed and shook his head. It didn't matter. It didn't matter how they felt. What mattered was how _he _felt. Didn't they understand that? Didn't they understand he wasn't wanted there anymore? How could they ask—no, how could _Clary_ ask him to return to that? She knew him better than anyone. How could she think that he would even want to go? "I wont go back to a place I'm not trusted," he said. "I'm not ten years old anymore. I can take care of myself."

Luke's brow raised, doubt on his face. "Where will you go?" he asked plainly. "How will you live?"

Jace bit the inside of his cheek as he looked irritably at the wolf. "I'm seventeen," he said slowly, maintaining his anger. "Practically an adult. Any adult Shadowhunter is entitled to—"

"Any _adult,_" Luke cut him off and Jace felt himself bristle. "But you're not one. You can't draw a salary from the Clave because you're too young, and in fact the Lightwoods are bound by Law to care for you. If they won't, someone else would be appointed or—"

"Or what?" Jace felt the sharp blade of anger stab through him as he sprang from the chair. He glared at Luke. He was aware of what the Lightwoods were _supposed_ to do, and so were they. But he was also aware of what might happen if an Institute placement wasn't working out for a young Shadowhunter without parents to go home to. "I'll go to an orphanage in Idris? Be dumped on some family I've never met?" Yes, that would work out swimmingly. He was sure that all sorts of Shadowhunter's and their families would just be rushing to open their doors for the son of Valentine. He bit the inside of his cheek. No. He wouldn't do it. He wouldn't allow it. Jace shook his head. "I can get a job in the mundane world for a year, live like one of _them_—"

"No, you can't," Clary cut him off. She was tugging absently on her curls as she looked at him with wide apologetic eyes. "I ought to know, Jace, I _was_ one of them. You're too young for any job you'd want and besides," a hint of a smile played on her lips, "the skills you have—well, most professional killers are older than you. And they're criminals."

Jace wasn't amused. "I'm not a killer."

"If you lived in the mundane world," Luke said, obviously not amused either, "that's all you'd be."

Jace flinched and bit hard on the inside of his cheek. Why—why were they making this so difficult for him? Why couldn't they—he shook his head. They didn't understand. It wasn't just going back to a place he wasn't trusted. It was what Maryse had asked him to do—asked him to say . . . he couldn't do it! He wanted to, but he couldn't. Valentine was his father! No child should be asked— "You don't get it," he finally said, his tone begging for them to understand. "I can't go back. Maryse wants me to say I hate Valentine. I can't do that." And he looked defiantly at Luke, waiting for him to yell at him. Waiting for him to tell him how ridiculous he was behaving. He knew how much Luke hated his father—how much he yearned to kill him. Jace wanted to kill him too. He despised what his father had done, and was possibly doing at this very moment. But at the end of the day, he was still his father. He was still the man that had raised him. So Luke could scold him until the sun came up, Jace didn't care.

But Luke didn't scold him. He didn't yell. And he didn't tell him he was being ridiculous. He said nothing at all. He only just looked at Jace with sad eyes before finally sighing. "I know," he said gently. "I loved him once too." Jace let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, his body relaxing as he looked at Luke._ He knew then,_ Jace thought. He understood. And then he thought back to how he had felt when first seeing Luke standing at the entrance of the bar and realized he had been right. Luke, better than anyone, understood how he felt. Jace knew that now. "You shouldn't have to claim you hate your father," Luke continued, rubbing at the gray stubble of his chin. "Not even to reassure Maryse. She ought to understand."

_You'd think,_ Jace thought bitterly. A movement to his left caught his attention then, and he saw that Clary had taken a step forward. His heat skipped a beat, but he ignored it as he looked at her as blankly as he could. She stared back at him, not with pity but with sadness, worry, and determination. He could see the wheels in her head turning. "Did she really say she never wanted you to come back?" she asked, her lips pulling deeper into a frown. Jace had to cross his arms to keep from reaching for her. "Or did you just assume that was what she meant, so you left?"

Jace exhaled. "She told me it would probably be better if I found somewhere else to be for awhile," he said, looking at her. "She didn't say where." _And then she took my key to the Institute,_ he added silently. _So yeah, there was that. I'm pretty sure I didn't misunderstand._

"Did you give her a chance to?" Luke asked, his brow raised, and Jace sliced his eyes toward the wolf. Just how much _had_ Clary told Luke about him that he would naturally assume he was so stubborn as to—he sighed loudly, and threw a glare at Clary. She looked back unabashed, as if she knew what he was thinking. "Look, Jace," Luke continued when he didn't answer, and Jace met his grey eyes once more. "You're absolutely welcome to stay with me as long as you need to. I want you to know that."

Jace's jaw locked instantly at the offer. Luke's? With . . . Clary there? His pulse began to race, and suddenly his palms felt inexplicably sweaty. He didn't think that had ever happened before. "Thanks," he said, and was pleased to hear that his voice was steady. But then, as if she were a magnet, his eyes swept to Clary and it was like looking into a mirror in that moment. He could see the pain, the horror, and the awkwardness. But worse than that, he could see the excitement of what it would mean for him to be there that her eyes reflected. He bit the inside of his cheek. He couldn't do it. He couldn't sleep in a house knowing that she was only steps away from him and not fight with himself every night to keep from going to her. He knew it was wrong. Knew he shouldn't _want _to go to her—knew it was absurd, and disgusting and . . . he shook his head. There was another word that was used to describe what he felt as well—a word to describe a relationship between siblings—but he hadn't been able to bring himself to use it. But avoiding the word, didn't make it any less true. Clary cheeks began to flush, and all he could think was how beautiful it was on her skin.

"But," Luke went on suddenly, though Jace didn't look up at him. "I think you should at least go back to the Institute long enough to talk to Maryse and find out what's really going on. It sounds like there's more to this than she's telling you. More, maybe, than you're willing to hear."

Go back to the Institute or go Luke's—_with Clary._ Jace tore his eyes away from her to look at Luke. Those were quite the options. Maybe if he had thrown in wrestling a bear for a spot in a cave, it would have been an easier choice. "All right," he said, his voice rough and defeated. "But on one condition." He swallowed, his heartbeat racing. "I don't want to go by myself."

"I'll come with you," Clary said without missing a beat.

Jace looked at her. Of course she would. He had already known that before he had even said anything. She had come here for him, and she would go there for him. "I know," he whispered gratefully, his golden eye capturing her emerald one's. "And I want you to. But—" he looked back up at Luke. Because this wasn't about Clary this time. This time, the encouragement he needed—the backbone he wanted . . . it needed to come from someone stronger than both of them. From someone who knew how he felt. Understood it. "I want Luke to come too."

Luke's eyes widened as he looked at Jace, his mouth popping open slightly. "Jace—" Luke shook his head. "I've lived here fifteen years and I've never gone to the Institute. Not once. I doubt Maryse is any fonder of me—"

"Please." He had cut off Luke with that one word. His tone was flat, and his eyes even flatter as Luke looked at the him with shock, his mouth closing slowly. That one word that should be easy to say. It was a word that was easy for anyone but him to say. He had had to push down his pride for that one, and he didn't know what he would do if Luke turned him down. He could feel Clary's eyes on him, and he did his best to ignore it as he looked at Luke. She knew how hard this was for him, and her gaze wasn't making it any easier. Luke raked his fingers through his sliver streaked hair.

"All right," he said with a nod, his eyes steady as he looked at the pleading boy in front of him. The boy that, when it came to Valentine, he was the only one who seemed to understand. "Then I'll come with you."

Jace swallowed. "Thank you."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong>_ _Well I hope you liked it! Some of you might be wondering about the title. Yeah. Um. Jace is kinda upset, and that's what you got compliments of Jace and his anger. I thought about changing it, but I thought doing so would not being doing him justice. Also, a lot of you might ask about the French song. If you speak French, then you know what the words mean, and you might see why Maryse would sing them to a child who had just lost his father. If you don't speak French . . . well, I'm not gonna translate here during the authors note, but if you're really curious you can look it up. Or, if you really want, I can put the translation up on my profile page. Let me know._


	4. Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman Scorned

_**AN:** As before (and as you've probably already guessed), I have decided to leave the title of the chapter as is. I hope you like it! Thank you to all my amazing readers, and please, as always let me know what you think! _

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><p><strong>~Chapter Three~<strong>

**Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman Scorned By My Father**

**Thanks For That**

The trip back to the Institute had been a quiet one, but Jace felt better knowing that both Clary and Luke were there with him. It was a curious feeling, wanting someone with him to help him. He had spent so much of his life alone, taking care of himself, that to have that change was . . . disconcerting almost. Clary, he had known would come with him, but Luke he had been unsure of. Once they had finished talking, they had made to leave the office only to find Simon standing in the hall. This had infuriated Jace, but he had not shown it. Instead, he had leaned against the wall and waited with a bored expression while Clary told the mundane to go home. He _should_ have gone home when Jace had sent him out of the room. It was with a bitter look at Jace, who met his glare with one of his own, that the mundane stormed off. Not for the first time, he wished Clary would let him clock the rat boy just once in his life. Now, standing outside the Institute, Jace felt as his heart began to pound with the prospect of what they were about to do. He kept his face expressionless though. He wouldn't let anyone know the nervousness he felt. He was also getting sorer with each step he took. And he could only just see out of one eye as it had nearly swollen shut from the fight. Having left his stele behind, however, he would just have to endure. He lead the way up the path, the other two behind him, as he approached the door. Reaching inside his bloodied shirt, he grabbed for the chain that his key usually hung from. But it wasn't there. He panicked for the briefest of moments before remembering, and then he laughed out loud without any real humor.

"I forgot," he said, and realized that it was getting more difficult for him to speak through his swollen and split lip. Fucking wolves. "Maryse took my keys from me before I left."

"Of course she did," Luke said next him, and Jace turned to look at him. But Luke was looking at the Institute doors with a wistful sort of remembrance now, and Jace wondered if he missed being a Shadowhunter. How couldn't he? Jace didn't know what he would do if he _couldn't _be a Shadowhunter. Probably end himself in the worst way he could possibly think of—feed himself to ducks. He cringed at the thought, his eye involuntarily twitching. "These doors are just like the ones at the Council Hall in Idris," Luke continued, unaware of Jace's silent plans of death by fowl, and touching the symbols that were carved into the door softly. "I never thought that I would see their like again."

Something in his voice caught Jace's attention, and he frowned. He sounded like he missed it. Jace hadn't really thought about how hard it would be for the exiled Shadowhunter—now werewolf and pack leader—to come here. He tried to think of something comforting to say—anything—when Clary cleared her throat. "If we don't have a key—"

They both looked at her, but it was Luke who spoke. "One shouldn't be necessary. An Institute should be open to any of the Nephilim who mean no harm to the inhabitants."

Jace knew this, but— "What if they mean harm to us?" he quipped under his breath, but Luke had heard him, and Jace saw the wolf's lips tick upward.

"I don't think that makes a difference," he said.

"Yeah," Jace frowned, looking up at the Institute doors darkly. "The Clave always stacks the deck it's way." Taking a breath, he winced only slightly at the sting of his split lip as he turned toward the door, pressing his palm to it.

"Did she take your stele, too?" Clary asked suddenly behind him, and he turned to look at her. She was looking at his face like the mere sight of it hurt her. He wasn't sure if this was because he looked like he just got in a fight with some werewolves, or because . . . he shook his head to clear the thought.

"I didn't take anything when I left," he said, looking just above her eyes. He couldn't look directly at them. "I didn't want to take anything the Lightwoods got for me."

Luke sighed, and Jace saw that he was looking at him with concern. He wished he would stop. "Every Shadowhunter needs a stele," Luke said gently.

"So I'll get another one," Jace said stubbornly and then turned his back on the wolf. Luke might understand him when it came to Valentine, but not when it came to him being childish and stubborn. And while he may be back at the Institute, and may even be staying here again, he would be damned if he would take anything from the woman who had called him like a liar. She could just take that stele and shove it up her—Jace put his hand back on the door. "In the name of the Clave, I ask entrance to this holy place. And in the name of the Angel Raziel, I ask your blessings upon my mission against—" Jace's sentence was cut off as the door flung open. This had surprised him, as he hadn't even finished. He frowned looking into the darkened corridor. Apparently, the Institute wasn't too worried about anyone who wished the inhabitants would do bodily harm to themselves with a stele, either. He wondered what else the Institute wouldn't mind. He shrugged. "Well that was convenient," he said flatly, taking a step inside. "I guess blessings are easier to come by than I thought. Maybe I should ask for blessings on my mission against all those who wear white after Labor Day."

"The Angel knows what your mission is," Luke said, walking in behind him. "You don't have to say the words aloud, Jonathan." And Jace felt a sharp pinch in his chest, like someone was restricting his heart. He took a breath as he looked at the wolf. He had not called him by his name to spite him, or to upset him—he knew this. And he was glad that even though Maryse had kicked him out, the Institute hadn't—but all the same. He couldn't help but feel the irk of irritation at being called by his given name.

"Don't call me that," he finally said as a response. "It's not my name." Turning, he worked his way inside the Institute, knowing that they were following him. No one said anything until they reached the lift, and Jace pressed the call button. When it came to a grinding halt, Jace pulled the latch and held it open for Clary to enter first. His stomach twisted and he bit the inside of his cheek as she threw a reassuring smile at him before stepping inside.

"This must have been Maryse's idea," Luke said suddenly, his voice echoing around the vast empty room. "It's entirely her taste."

Jace, who was shutting the door and pressing the button to go up, only shrugged. "It's been here as long as I have." Turning he leaned against the caged bars next to Clary and his heart immediately began to pound as adrenaline shot through him. When did the elevator get so small? Had it always been this tiny? Lowering his hands to his sides, his heart shot through his chest as his fingers brushed hers. He quickly crossed his arms instead, as her own hand flew up to the scarf she was wearing, where she begin to pick apart the fringe. Jace tried to look anywhere but at her, but he couldn't. And he watched helplessly as her hand went absentmindedly from her scarf to her curls as if of their own accord. He bit the inside of his cheek and closed his eyes, trying desperately to control his breathing. _Stop. For the love of the Angel, please stop. She's your sister._ When the lift finally came to a halt, Jace couldn't get the latch open fast enough. Stepping out, he found Church sitting there with an ungodly red bow tied around it's neck. Bending down, he pet the cat. "Where's Maryse?"

The cat half purred and half growled—his normal reaction to Maryse—before setting off down the hall. Jace took of after him, shoving his hands in his pocket. His nerves were starting to bubble over the closer they got, and he did what he did best when nervous—tensed up and chewed the shit out of his cheek. Behind him, Luke said something but he missed what it was. Clary, however, responded and he _did_ hear her—like he knew he always would. "Does it look like you thought it would?" she asked Luke.

The wolf was silent for a minute, and then, "I've been to the Institutes in London and Paris; this is not unlike those, no. Though somehow—"

"Somehow what?" Jace asked, stopping in front of a large set of doors and looking back at the wolf. His tone had sounded ominous—but even with all that happened, Jace couldn't help but to still feel protective of this place. Luke looked back at Jace, his eyes steady.

"Colder," he said.

Jace swallowed but said nothing in return. He wasn't sure he wanted to, because he wasn't sure he could disagree with that description. He had never thought of it as cold before. But now—he bit the inside of his cheek and turned to look down at Church who was sitting and staring back up at him. Jace nodded and then looked a the double doors. He could hear talking coming from inside, but he knew that if he waited for whoever was in there to come out . . . he might rethink this whole damn thing altogether. Nope, better to do it while he was willing. He didn't knock. Pushing open the doors, he walked forward through the shelves of books and as he came into view of the large desk, he saw the back of a young boy with dark hair and heard his spanish accent. Raphael? It _was _Raphael. But why would he be here? Jace wondered, though he knew he wasn't actually here. Even from where he stood, he could tell the boy was just a projection of himself. He wasn't allowed to be in the Institute—he wouldn't be able to get past the front doors. Maryse was sitting on the other side of the desk, and it was a few seconds before she looked past the vampire she was talking to and saw Jace. She gasped as she took in his marred face. Was that concern? he wondered bitterly. She wasn't allowed to be concerned about him. Within seconds, Clary and Luke had reached him, and the vampire, seeing the look on Maryse's face, turned to look at Jace and his companions as well.

"Raphael?" Clary blurted out with shock as she came to a stop next to Jace. The vampire looked just as shocked, his eyes sweeping over Clary in a way that made Jace stiffen protectively—even knowing he couldn't physically harm her here. And then he looked at Jace, taking in his bruised face and smiling.

"_Dios," _the vampire said flinching as if he were the one hurt. "What happened to you, brother? You look as if a pack of wolves tried to tear you apart."

Jace stared at Raphael. Word really did travel fast amongst Downworlders. But then, he supposed he couldn't look much worse than when a pack of vampires had wanted to do the same thing to him, lest Raphael forget that. "That's either a shockingly good guess," Jace said flatly, his eyes giving away nothing. "or you heard about what happened."

Raphael grinned. "I hear things."

_Yeah, I thought so. _Looking past the vampire, Jace saw that Maryse's eyes were glued to his face, her eyes wide with shock. "Jace," she said with unease. "Did something happen? Why are you back so soon? I thought you were going to stay with—" Her words were cut off as she finally pulled her gaze away from Jace and saw Clary and Luke. Her brows creased. "And who are you?" she asked.

"Jace's sister," Clary said pointedly, and Jace's heart twisted. Maryse, however looked at Clary like she was studying her. More than once, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed.

"Yes," she finally said. "I can see it. You look like Valentine." Jace cocked his brow, but kept his face blank. If ever he disagreed with Maryse, it was now. Clary looked nothing like his father. Clary was beautiful, and amazing, and a good person, and she would do anything for him. She was—_Stop. Just stop. _He clenched his fists, his heart moved her gaze back to Jace, and he looked back defiantly. "You brought your sister with you?" she asked incredulously. "And a mundane, as well? It's not safe for any of you here right now." Jace frowned, confused. What did she mean that it wasn't safe— "And _especially_ a mundane—"

Luke stepped forward, and Jace really looked at him for the first time. The red flannel shirt hanging open over a white t-shirt, and the ragged blue jeans. He could see why Maryse thought he was a Mundane. But Luke was smiling. "But I'm not a mundane," he said, standing at his full height. If the circumstances had been different, it would have been hilarious to watch Maryse's expression change so rapidly from confusion to outright shock. Her mouth had even popped open as she looked at Luke. But all that aside, one thing was certain. She remembered the man in front of her.

_"Lucian?"_ she breathed.

Luke didn't sound remotely as surprised or shocked to see her. He sounded tired. "Hello, Maryse," he smiled faintly. "It's been a long time."

Everyone was silent now as Maryse could only seem to stare at Luke. Several times she shook her head as if she couldn't believe he was really standing there. Jace looked down at Clary and saw that she looked apprehensive at the exchange between the man she thought of as her father, and the woman he thought of as his mother. He leaned lightly against one of the book shelves just as Maryse pressed her hands flat on the desk. "Lucian," she said again, her tone more controlled now. "Lucian Graymark."

Before anyone could respond to that, Raphael turned to stare at the wolf, his black eyes alight with curiosity. "You killed Gabriel." Jace raised a brow and looked at Luke as if he were bored. He didn't really expect him to deny it. How else could he have become the pack leader? It was the way of the werewolves. The Clave understood that. Luke only shrugged.

"I did, yes, just like he killed the pack leader before him." Luke said, his head cocked as he looked at the vampire. Jace wondered if he knew how animalistic he looked when he did that. He probably did. Jace also noticed the confused look on Clary's face just as Maryse's eyes snapped to Luke.

"The pack leader?" she asked.

But before Luke could respond, Raphael turned to face him fully. "If you lead the pack now, it's time for us to talk," he said with strained politeness that was not unnoticed by Jace—or, it seemed, Luke. "Though not at this exact moment, perhaps."

"I'll send someone over to arrange it," Luke nodded in agreement. "Things have been busy lately. I might be behind on the niceties."

The vampire regarded the wolf for a moment. "You might." He said nothing else to Luke as he turned back to Maryse. "Is our business here concluded?"

Jace noticed the hesitance in Maryse as she looked apprehensively at him and then at Luke, before looking fully at the vampire. "If you say the Night Children aren't involved in these killings, then I'll take you at your word. I'm required to, unless other evidence comes to light."

Both Jace and Raphael frowned—though for completely different reasons, he was sure. "To light?" Raphael asked, looking at Maryse cautiously. "That is not a phrase I like." Jace nearly snorted. So the vampire was sensitive to light jokes? Really? But Raphael said nothing more as he turned to look at him, and Jace could see that he was starting to fade. The vampire grinned at Clary, his eyes flashing as he did. Jace wondered if he was remembering his failed attempt to kill them both. Not liking the look he was giving Clary, he took a step forward so that the last thing the vampire saw before he completely disappeared was Jace grinning back just as menacingly. It had the affect he wanted. Raphael was no longer smiling. Behind him, he heard Clary's intake of breath.

"Is he _dead?" _she asked in shock.

Jace turned, puzzled. "What, Raphael?" And then he had to bite back on his smile. He had forgotten just how little Clary still knew about their world. And it was still just as endearing. He was going to miss not being able to explain everything to her someday. "Not likely," he continued. "That was just a projection of him. He can't come into the Institute in his corporeal form."

"Why not?" She asked, her Idris eyes curious.

"Because this is hallowed ground," Maryse answered for him, her tone like ice. "And he is damned." Jace felt a twinge of irritation at the tone she had used with Clary. It was him she was mad at. Him she didn't trust. No need to take out her anger on Clary. But if Maryse noticed the glare he and given her, she didn't show it. Instead she had moved her icy gaze on to Luke. "You?" she said, her eyes hard. "Head of the pack here?" And then she gave a bitter laugh. "I suppose I should hardly be surprised. It does seem your method, doesn't it?"

Next to him, Clary tensed up and Jace looked down at her. He could see her irritation with Maryse in her eyes, but she kept whatever she was thinking to herself. Luke on the other hand didn't seem the slight bit put off. "Was Raphael here about the cub who was killed today?"

"That, and a dead warlock," she said gravely. "Found murdered downtown, two days apart."

Jace frowned as he looked at Luke. He could tell that the wolf was thinking the same thing he was. "But why was Raphael here?" Luke asked.

Maryse sighed. "The warlock was drained of blood," she said. "It seems whoever murdered the werewolf was interrupted before the blood could be taken, but suspicion naturally fell on the Night Children. The vampire came here to assure me his folk had nothing to do with it."

"Do you believe him?" Jace asked, his brows creasing. The only interaction he had ever had with Raphael had started out with the vampire lying and then trying to kill him and Clary. So it would not be the least bit surprising to find out that the vampire _was _involved. Maybe he should explain what he knew of Raphael to Maryse—or maybe not. Jace met her eyes and could see that she was beyond annoyed with his question, though he had not thought he was doing anything wrong by asking it.

"I don't care to talk about Clave business with you right now, Jace," she snapped, and Jace flinched inwardly at the anger in her tone. She still didn't trust him—not that he really thought his hour or so away would have changed that. "Especially," she continued, her eyes on Luke, "not in front of Lucian Graymark."

"I'm just called Luke now," the pack leader corrected her mildly. "Luke Garroway."

Maryse glared at him for a second before she frowned and shook her head. "I hardy recognized you. You look like a mundane."

Luke smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "That's the idea, yes."

"We all thought you were dead," Maryse pressed.

"Hoped," Luke corrected again, though he still didn't sound upset. "Hoped I was dead."

Maryse's eyes narrowed. She looked like Luke had just slapped her, but she quickly covered it as she sighed and gestured to the chairs arranged in front of the desk. "You might as well sit down." Jace walked forward first and pulled out one of the chairs for Clary. After she had sat, he looked at Luke and made to pull out the other chair for him, but Luke shook his head and instead retrieved one of the hard wooden chairs that were gathered at a nearby table. Jace sat next to Clary as Luke brought the other chair back over and sat on her other side. Once they were all seated, Maryse eyed them speculatively. "Now," she began slowly. "Perhaps you might tell me why you're here."

"Jace wants a trial before the Clave," Luke said, jumping right into it without hesitation. The look of shock on Maryse's face sent Jace's stomach flipping, but he said nothing. "I'm willing to vouch for him," Luke continued. "I was there that night at Renwicks, when Valentine revealed himself. I fought him and we nearly killed each other." _That's putting it mildly, _Jace thought as he threw a sidelong glance a the wolf. "I can confirm that everything Jace says happened is the truth."

Maryse was quiet for a minute before, "I'm not sure what _your_ word is worth."

Luke shrugged. "I may be a lycanthrope, but I'm also a Shadowhunter," he said. "I'm willing to be tried by the Sword, if that will help." Jace had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from showing his shock. Interlacing his fingers, he laid his hands in his lap and looked down at them. They were scrapped and bloody. Luke would do that? For him? Even after he had been so rude to him? Surely he knew what being tried by the Sword entailed. He swallowed and glanced up, only to see that Clary was watching him—a look of confusion on her face. He knew what she was thinking even without saying anything.

"The Soul-Sword," Jace explained. "The second of the Mortal Instruments. It's used in trials to determine if a Shadowhunter is lying."

"You're not a Shadowhunter," Maryse said bluntly, staring at Luke. Jace blanched. Was she really that determined to not hear the truth? he wondered. To not believe him even when he had people here who would tell her he was telling the truth. People who were there with him and Valentine? "You haven't lived by the Law of the Clave in a long, long time."

"There was a time when you didn't live by it either," Luke pointed out. Jace knew that it was not said with malice, but just as when he had mentioned that Valentine had influenced her as well, Maryse's face turned red and her eyes flashed. While he didn't want to look a gift wolf in the mouth—he wasn't sure that this was the best way to win Maryse over. Luke, however, didn't seem to care. "I would have thought," he continued, "that by now you would have gotten past not being able to trust anyone, Maryse."

But she only shook her head, her eyes on fire and her tone a razor edged feather. "Some things you never forget." Her tone sent chills through Jace. "You think pretending his own death was the biggest lie Valentine ever told us?" she asked. "You think charm is the same as honesty? I used to think so—" Maryse stood abruptly then, her palms flat on the desk as she leaned toward them. "I was wrong," she said harshly. "He told us he would lay down his life for the Circle and that he expected us to do the same. And we would have—all of us—I know it. I nearly _did _it." Her blue eyes—the same blue as Alec's—met Jace's, and he could see her quiet anger. He could see the tremble in her fingers as her gaze swept on to Clary before resting on Luke. "You remember," she breathed, "the way he told us that the Uprising would be nothing, hardly a battle, a few unarmed ambassadors against the full might of the Circle." Jace frowned. Was this why she was upset? Because the good guys won? He knew better than to ask as she continued. "I was so confident in our swift victory that when I rode out to Alicante, I left Alec at home in his cradle. I asked Jocelyn—" her eyes flashed to Clary, "—to watch my child while I was away. She refused. I know why now." Maryse stood to her full heigh, he shoulders squared as she glared at Luke once more. "She _knew_—and so did you. And you didn't warn us."

"I'd tried to warn you about Valentine," the wolf said, his brow raised. "You didn't listen.

Maryse slapped her hand on the table and next to him, Clary jumped. "I'm not talking about Valentine. I mean about the Uprising! When we arrived, there were fifty of us against five hundred Downworlders—"

"You'd been willing to slaughter them unarmed when you thought there would be only five of them," Luke said quietly, his words matching the thoughts that Jace had had earlier. He hated to think it, but it sounded like Maryse wasn't remorseful of her part in the Uprising, but that they had _lost_ the Uprising. But that couldn't be right, could it? He could see flush on Maryse's face and the clenching of her fists.

"_We_ were slaughtered," she said through her teeth. "In the midst of the carnage, we looked to Valentine to lead us. But he wasn't there. By that time the Clave had surrounded the Hall of the Accords. We thought Valentine had been killed, were ready to give our own lives in a final desperate rush. Then I remembered Alec—" _Then you remembered Alec? _Jace's brow raise with incredulity. _Well that was nice of you to remember your son. "_—if I died, what would happen to my little boy? So I laid my arms down and gave myself up to the Clave."

Luke sighed, though he did not look sympathetic. "You did the right thing, Maryse."

Maryse rounded on him, her eyes blazing. "Don't _patronize_ me, werewolf. If it weren't for you—"

"Don't yell at him!" Jace's stomach dropped as Clary jumped to her feet, glaring at Maryse. "It's your fault for believing in Valentine in the first place—"

"You don't think I know that?" Maryse snapped back, though she sounded tired now—worn down. Clary sat back down. "Oh, the Clave made that point nicely when they questioned us—they had the Soul-Sword and they knew when we were lying, but they couldn't _make_ us talk—nothing could make us talk, until—"

"Until what?" Luke asked suddenly, leaning forward and staring intently up at Maryse. "I've never known. I always wondered what they told you to make you turn on him."

Maryse gave a bitter laugh without sound. "Just the truth," she said, definitely tired now. "That Valentine hadn't died there in the Hall. He'd fled—left us there to die without him. He'd died later, we were told, burned to death in his house. The Inquisitor showed us his bones. Of course, that was another lie," she said as her eyes found Jace's. "It was all coming apart by then, anyway" she continued, taking a seat. "We were finally talking to one another, those of us in the Circle. Before the battle, Valentine had drawn me aside, told me that out of all the Circle, I was the one he trusted most, his closest lieutenant. When the Clave questioned us I found out he'd said the same thing to everyone."

Jace shook his head. So this was all because she wasn't Valentine's number one? Really? And here she wanted to be mad at him for being his son? "Hell hath no fury." he mumbled under his breath. Looking up, he caught Clary looking at him but it seemed no one else had heard. He shrugged. Well, it was true.

"He lied not just to the Clave but to us," Maryse continued, her eyes meeting Jace's. "He used our loyalty and our affection. Just as he did when he sent you to us—" His stomach twisted. "—And now he's back, and he has the Mortal Cup. He's been planning all this for years, all along, all of it." And then Jace saw the sadness in her eyes and felt despair he worked hard not to show. It didn't matter what kind of evidence he brought forward or who vouched for him. She would never— "I can't afford to trust you, Jace. I'm sorry."

Jace bit on the inside of his cheek as he looked at her. He could see that she wasn't going to budge on this, and just as before, he had no intention of begging her to. He knew Luke had said that she needed reassurance, but Jace was starting to think she didn't. Nothing he could possibly say was going to reassure her. "Then what?" Luke blurted out suddenly, his eyes flashing. "What is it you expect him to do? Where is he supposed to go."

Maryse looked at Clary then, and Jace's stomach twisted painfully. He knew what she was going to say even before she said it. And it was looking like he might not have a choice. "Why not with his sister?" she asked. "Family—"

_"Isabelle_ is Jace's sister," Clary with such pointedness that Jace was forced to look at her. She wasn't looking at him, but he could see the determination on her face as she glared at Maryse. Her tone hard. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe she hadn't come to terms with being his sister yet. "Alec and Max," Clary continued, "are his brothers. What are you going to tell them? They'll hate you forever if you throw Jace out of your house."

"What do _you_ know about it?" Maryse snapped, her eyes flashing angrily.

"I know Alec and Isabelle," she snapped back, her eyes just as hard as the woman's in front of her. Jace found himself involuntarily thinking that he would hate to see these two in a fight. Maryse had training, sure, but Clary had desire and determination—and all the training in the world wouldn't be a match for that. "Family is more than blood," Clary continued, her voice softer now. Valentine isn't my father. Luke is—" Jace saw Luke's head snap to Clary at that, a look of surprise and love so profoundly deep on his face that it took Jace back. He couldn't remember a time he had ever been looked at like that by, well . . . anyone. "—Just like Alec and Max and Isabelle are Jace's family. If you try to tear him out of your family, you'll leave a wound that won't ever heal."

Jace looked at Clary, his heart racing as it always did when he looked at her. He didn't know what to say to her. But while he appreciated it more than he could possibly tell her—it didn't matter. He was already coming to terms with Maryse's refusal to believe him. "Clary," he whispered, reaching forward hesitantly. He had planned to take her hand, but now he stopped and patted it softly instead. "Enough," he said, and he could hear the defeat in his tone. Clary looked down to her hand and then up to Jace, her Idris eyes flashing _Please,_ he said silently._ Please, just . . . let it go._ Clary, as if reading his thoughts, shook her head stubbornly, her eyes flashing back to Maryse.

"What about the Sword?" she demanded. _The Sword? _Jace wondered. What about it? Maryse had already said that Luke would not be allowed to use it because he was no longer a Shadowhunter. Even Luke and Maryse were looking at her bewieldered. But Clary was looking back at them all as if they were dense. "The Soul-Sword," Clary prompted slowly, as if talking to a child. "The one you can use to tell if a Shadowhunter is lying or not. You can use it on Jace."

_Of course! _he thought, his stomach doing a wild flip. _Why didn't I think of that? _Luke couldn't be tried by the Sword because he wasn't a Shadowhunter anymore—but he—Jace—_was. _Maryse may have been able to kick him unceremoniously from the Institute, but she couldn't strip his Marks. "That's a good idea," he said with his first real bit of excitement since coming back here.

It was Luke who spoke next, and to Jace's surprise, he looked just as worried as Maryse did at the idea. "Clary," he said slowly, "you mean well, but you don't know what the Sword entails. The only one who can use it is the Inquisitor."

_So what?_ Jace thought wildly. He wanted this done. He wanted to prove to everyone that while he couldn't help how he felt about his father—he was not a traitor. He did not know what his father had done. And he did _not_ condone it. "Then call on her," he said, looking from the wolf to Maryse. "Call the Inquisitor. I want to end this." From nearby, he heard Luke say no, but it wasn't Luke's decision. He held Maryse's eyes, begging her to see how much this meant to him. And then something flickered across her face.

"The Inquisitor," she sighed, "is already on her way—"

"Maryse," Luke was sitting up, his eyes hard and disbelieving. It was the first real sound of anger Jace had heard. Even at the Hunter's Moon when he had yelled at him to stay put, he hadn't sounded this appalled. And Jace had barked at him. "Tell me you haven't called her into this!"

"I didn't!" Maryse rounded on Luke, her eyes flashing. Jace on the other hand, didn't see what the big deal was. It just meant this would be over sooner. All the same, the look on Maryse's face as she glared at Luke made him nervous. "Did you think the Clave wouldn't involve itself in this wild tale of Forsaken warriors and Portals and staged deaths?" Jace's stomach dropped. Why hadn't he thought of this? _Son of a bitch!_ Why hadn't he realized that this was going to go much farther than a simple family affair? "After what Hodge did?" Maryse continued. "We're all under investigation now, thanks to Valentine." And for the first time, she looked scared—and this scared Jace most of all. He bit the inside of his cheek, working hard to keep his face expressionless. All the same, he could feel the color draining from it as she looked at Luke pleadingly. He couldn't remember the last time she had ever looked at anyone pleadingly like that. "The Inquisitor could put Jace in prison." she breathed. "She could strip his Marks. I thought it would be better . . ." She cut herself off, closing her eyes. But Luke finished for her.

"If Jace were gone when she arrived," he said with quiet understanding. And it hit Jace then. She hadn't been trying to kick him out. She had been trying to protect him. "No wonder you've been so eager to send him away." Jace was looking at Maryse with a whole new mixture of emotions. So did that mean she _did _believe him? His heart was jackhammering. Did that mean—

"Who is the Inquisitor?" Clary blurted out suddenly, and Jace pulled his eyes away from Maryse to look at her. Clary's head was shaking, her fiery curls bouncing. "What does she _do?"_

"She investigates Shadowhunters for the Clave," Luke responded tiredly, rubbing at his temples. "She ensures the Law hasn't been broken by Nephilim. She investigated all the Circle members after the Uprising."

"She cursed Hodge?" Jace asked, his brows raising as he looked to Maryse. "She sent you here?"

Maryse sighed. "She chose our exile and his punishment. She has no love or us, and hates your father." Jace thought about this. He thought about what it was she had been trying to do by sending him away. But . . . if the Inquisitor were coming like she said, then surely Maryse must know that she would want to talk to him. And what would happen to her—to all the Lightwoods—if the son of Valentine was just suddenly gone? She would think they were hiding him. That they were also collaborating with Valentine. He bit the inside of his cheek. No—_No._ He wouldn't allow it.

"I'm not leaving," he said suddenly, his arms crossing stubbornly as Maryse turned pleading eyes to him. But surely, she had to have thought of this! "What will she do to you if she gets here and I'm gone?" he demanded. "She'll think you conspired to hide me. She'll punish _you—_you and Alec and Isabelle and Max." Max, who was only nine and was completely innocent in all this. Jace would not allow anything to happen to him—any of them. Not on his behalf. Maryse sat, her fingers drumming nervously against the desk as she looked at Jace, her head shaking ever so softly.

"Maryse." It was Luke now. "Don't be a fool. She'll blame you more if you let Jace go. Keeping him here and allowing the trial by Sword would be a sign of good faith."

But it wasn't Maryse who protested now. It was Clary. "Keep Jace—you can't be serious Luke!" Jace looked at her trying to hide the twist of pain he felt at her concern for him that was lined with amusement. He decided it would be best if he did not remind her that it had been _her_ idea for him to be tried by the Sword in the first place—_not _that it had been a bad suggestion. Brilliant really. And he knew what it entailed better than she did. Clary cast a glance at him that showed she wasn't just concerned for him, but terrified. "She sounds awful," she breathed, her eyes pleading. Jace had to look away.

"But if Jace leaves," Luke said gently, leaning forward and taking Clary's hand, "he can never come back. He'll never be a Shadowhunter again—" Jace bit the inside of his cheek. _Unacceptable._ "—Like it or not," Luke continued, "the Inquisitor is the Law's right hand. If Jace want's to stay a part of the Clave, he has to cooperate with her. He does have something on his side," he added, his eyes looking past Clary and meeting Jace's confused ones. "Something the members of the Circle did not have a the time of the Uprising."

"What's that?" Maryse asked, and Luke looked at her, smiling.

"Unlike you," he said, his eyes flashing back to Jace. "Jace is telling the truth." Jace felt a warmth spread through him as he stared back at the wolf. He could see why Clary loved this man so much, and Jace hoped he could see how grateful he was.

Maryse sighed heavily. "Ultimately," she said, turning to look at Jace, "it's your decision." She didn't want him here because she was scared for him—and maybe even _of_ him still, but she also knew there was nothing she could do about it, he realized. "If you want the trial, you can stay here until the Inquisitor comes."

"I'll stay," Jace said without firmly and without hesitance. But he had to look away when Clary turned to look at him, her lower lip quivering. Instead he looked out the window that sat behind Maryse. _I'll stay, _he thought. _I'll stay so I can prove to them all that I am _not_ my father—that I am _not_ a traitor. _He heard Maryse's sharp intake of breath and Luke's heavy sigh. Jace bit down on his cheek as he mentally prepared himself for what he was planning to do. He would have to do it. And he would do it. This wasn't just for them, but for him. He never thought that he would ever be in a position where he had to prove his own innocence when it came to who he was, but now that he did, he would take it on head first. He heard a chair scrape along the wood floor and he heard an exchange of words that he couldn't quite make out. And then he felt himself rise to his feet. It wasn't until they were standing outside the Institute, however, that he really focused on his surroundings. Luke and Clary were standing in front of him with the sun beginning to set behind them, casting them in it's glow.

"Good luck, Jace," Luke said, reaching forward and taking him by the shoulder. "Just remember that she only want to hear the truth."

Jace nodded. "Truth is my middle name."

"Really?" Clary said her lips ticking upward. "I thought it was Christopher—"

"Nope!" Jace cut her off with a grin. "You thought wrong. It's Truth. Jace Truth Wayland Morgenstern the fourth—er, twice removed."

"The fourth?" Luke raised a brow.

"Twice removed?" Clary laughed. But then her eyes darkened. "And you're no more a Morgenstern than I am, Jace. Wayland—Lightwood—anything but Morgenstern."

Jace gave a small laugh, but didn't argue. Wishing it so, didn't make it true. Instead he looked at Luke. "Thanks," he said earnestly.

"It was my pleasure." Somehow, Jace doubted that, but he appreciated it all the same. "Oh, and Jace?" Luke added. Jace raised his brow. "Stay away from the Hunter's Moon."

Jace laughed, but refused to look apologetic. Besides, his busted up face probably looked apologetic enough. "You got it." After what Luke had done for him, it was the least he could do. He looked at Clary then, and saw that she was still frowning. She turned to Luke.

"I'll meet you in the truck," she said, and Jace's stomach twisted nervously as Luke nodded and walked away. He bit the inside of his cheek as Clary turned back to him, her emerald eyes full of worry, and a frown tugging at her full lips. He wished that he could pull her into him—assure her that there was nothing to be worried about. He couldn't. He watched as she tugged absently on her curls, as the tension between them built. Or maybe it was just him who felt it—who knew. "Jace," she finally breathed, and his body reacted as it always did when she said his name like that—traitorously. "Call me. Do you understand? Call me as soon as you talk to this Inquisitor woman—don't avoid me like you did last time. You promised me you wouldn't."

Jace's brows knitted painfully together. "I wasn't avoiding you, Clary. I—" he shook his head. "Okay, maybe I was a little. But I thought you were still mad at me about the hospital."

"Jace, it's not going to be the first time I'm mad at you," she smirked. "Trust me."

"I do have that adorably infuriating quality about me, don't I?" he mused, his lip quirking upward.

"Something like that," Clary smiled as if against her will. "But I'm serious. I don't care how mad at you I am, I still—" her eyes went wide, and Jace's heart begin to pound painfully as he bit on the inside of his cheek. Slowly she closed her mouth. He hated this! He hated that this was what they had been reduced to. Afraid to say anything that might make it awkward between them, when it was obvious that _everything_ was going to make it awkward between them. Clary crossed her arms. "Just call me, okay? I want to know you're all right." Jace nodded mutely and then watched, his heart breaking as it always did, as she walked away from him. He stood there as she climbed into the pickup, and continued to stand there as it drove away from the curb. Sighing, he headed back inside and up to his room.

He was surprised that he met no one along the way. He was sure that Alec or Izzy would be waiting to pounce on him, but they must not have heard he was back yet. That or Maryse had told them to give him some time alone—not that that would have stopped either of them. Outside his room, he looked up and down the corridor before shrugging and opening the door—_Son of a bitch! _Jace sighed heavily as he looked at the mess that he had forgotten he had left his room in. Picking his way across the floor carefully, he went for his stele first and began drawing _iratze's _on himself. He let out a sigh of relief. Luke was right . . . of all the things he had left behind, his stele should not have been one of them. Tossing it back on the nightstand, he got up and began the tedious task of cleaning up his room before laying on his bed. He wasn't sure when he fell to sleep.


	5. Sins Of The Father Really Suck

**_AN:_** _Alrighty, again, I hope you like the different POV. If you remember CoA, then you remember that there are a few different POV's. So I have to do my best to work with it. Anyhoo, please let me know what you think!_**  
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><p><strong>~Chapter Four~<strong>

**Sins Of The Father Really Suck**

The air was cool on his hot skin, and the light breeze that blew in from the open windows ruffled his hair. Or maybe that was the hand that was raking through it. He wasn't sure. Turning over, Alec pressed Magnus down on the overly colorful bed as the warlocks fingers traced down his neck sending goosebumps racing along his skin. He could feel Magnus' fingers trace the runes along his chest and down to his abdomen, whispering what each one meant as he did. And then Alec frowned. When had he lost his shirt? He could have sworn he was just wearing one. His eyes narrowed suspiciously down at the warlock under him, but Magnus just grinned back before wrapping his slender fingers around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. Oh, screw the shirt. Alec's heart pounded as his lips collided with the warlocks, his hands pressing into the soft down comforter on either side of Magnus' head.

When Alec had been nearly killed by the Greater Demon, it had been Magnus who had brought him back to health. Without Magnus' magic . . . he didn't want to think about what would have happen. He had woken weak and sore to find Magnus slumped into an armchair near his bed looking just as ragged—if not more. When Magnus had peaked one of his cat-like eyes up at him, he had smiled a smile so wide, that Alec had gasped at how beautiful it had made the warlock look. Magnus then went on to explain what had happened to him, and what he had done. But Alec had known how warlocks work, and had wondered what was in it for him. What would the half-demon ask for in return? What was his price? He had made the mistake of asking. Well, at the time he had thought of it as a mistake. Especially when the warlock had swept from the room offended. But now, he considered it a good thing that he had offended the warlock. If he had never asked him that, then he would have never gone to his loft to apologize. And if he had never gone to his loft . . . well, he wouldn't be laying here with him now.

Alec had been resistive to the warlocks advances at first. He had even become upset when Magnus had first told him that he knew he was gay—denying it to the fullest. And yet, that hadn't stopped him from going back to his home night after night. Waiting until the Institute was asleep to slip out. Magnus had been patient with him to come out to him. It had been a strange transition for Alec, having someone he could really talk to. Someone he could be his true self around. And the fact that it was a warlock—a Downworlder—when he himself was a Shadowhunter—had also caused some mixed feeling in him as well. All the same, Magnus' apartment had become a sanctuary of sorts. A place he didn't have to hide who he was. And the warlock had also proved to be a great and sympathetic listener. He had listened as Alec told him about his true feelings for Jace—his _parabatai_, and how jealous he had been of Clary. How he had never been in a relationship before, having never been kissed. And he told him of his fear of anyone finding out about him, and how being gay in the Shadowhunter world was not something that people necessarily smiled on. Magnus had listened. He never judged him. He never made fun of him or made him feel foolish. It had been Alec who had asked Magnus out. Nervous and inexperienced and slightly terrified, he had shown up at his door in the middle of the night like he had been doing for the past week. He had still been on crutches then, and when Magnus opened his door—he only stood there at the threshold staring at the warlock. And then he had blurted it out and Magnus, though amused, had agreed. And then to both Alec's exultation and shock, the warlock had skipped forward and kissed him. It had been both their first kiss, and Alec's first kiss with anyone.

And now here they were. Alec was still just as inexperienced but Magnus was a good teacher. He was patient and he never pressed Alec to do anything he wasn't comfortable with. In fact, removing his shirt with magic was the first time since their first kiss that the warlock had really taken initiative. Alec had a feeling that Magnus was probably used to moving faster in a relationship than they were now. But if he was, he never showed it. The warlock allowed Alec to take the lead in everything they did, and set the pace and tone with how quickly they moved. He liked the feel of Magnus' lips on his. The feel of his fingers circling his Marks delicately. The warlock was so completely opposite of Alec, that it was easy to be with him.

But just as before—just like every time he and Magnus did anything together, he also had to push back thoughts of Jace. He knew it wasn't fair to Magnus that he think of Jace when they were together. Though he _had_ told Magnus about Jace . . . so there was that, he guessed. All the same, it still made him feel guilty. He knew that he was being stupid. That the sheer fact that Jace had wanted Clary before the whole "you're sibling's" thing happened, meant that Alec probably never stood a chance . . . but . . . he couldn't just give up, could he? He also knew the rules about a romantic relationship between _parabatai's—_gay or not. But how could what he felt be considered wrong, when it was who he was? That was like saying that _he _was wrong—that the way he was born was wrong. Alec pressed his mouth to Magnus' forehead as the warlock moved his own lips down his throat. Alec shivered with pleasure as he felt the light nipping of teeth at his neck. He wished he didn't care so much what other people thought. And he wished he knew what he and Magnus were doing—where they might be going with this whole thing. He really liked Magnus a lot, but it wasn't like he was the first guy the warlock had been with. And in a lot more intimate ways than this, though he didn't really want to think about that. His heart began to race faster, a warm feeling pulsing through his body as Magnus began doing things with his mouth on his throat that Alec couldn't even begin to describe.

Which is why the sudden vibration of his phone made him jump.

Magnus, chuckling, laid back on the pillow and raised a brow. Alec smiled sheepishly as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked it. It was Izzy. Flipping it open he pressed it to his ear. "Iz?"

"Jace is back," she said in way of greeting, and Alec swallowed as his stomach flipped. "Has been for a bit. I saw him coming back in after Clary and the werewolf left, but mom accosted me before I could go see him."

"Really? Why would she—?"

"I don't know," Izzy cut him off. "But I think you should get back here. I'm sure there's some rule about refusing to let _parabatai's _see each other."

Alec cast a glance at Magnus, who was watching him with blank amusement. He was reminded of Jace then, and how good he was at hiding his own emotions. "Okay," he said and hung up. Looking back at Magnus, he smiled apologetically.

"Did the wayward son return, then?" Magnus asked, his tone light.

"Yeah," Alec said, shoving his phone in his pocket.

"Then I expect you're going to go running to him?"

Alec looked at Magnus confused. He was sure he had heard a change in his tone, but now that he looked at the warlock, he looked just as casual and relaxed as he had before he had answered the phone. He frowned. Maybe he was hearing things. He wasn't sure. He looked at the warlock, whose glittered makeup was smudged across his face and whose lips were flushed from kissing. But his eyes, those cat-like eyes, they didn't seem as soft now. This left Alec to wonder if he had done something wrong. He didn't _think_ he had. Instead, he tried to think of something Jace might say. "I don't expect I'll be running anywhere," he smiled, gesturing to his leg. He still hadn't gotten rid of the stupid limp—though it wasn't as pronounced anymore. "But I do need to go, yes," he added.

Magnus nodded. "Okay."

It was all he said, and Alec wasn't sure if that was a dismissal or not. Was he okay with him leaving? Did he not want him to go? He was so confused. He shrugged. Maybe he was reading too much into it. It wasn't like him and Magnus were official or exclusive—granted, it wasn't like he was really seeing anyone else either. And then he thought of Jace and he had to jerk his head to clear it as he got off the bed. Looking down, he remembered he was missing his shirt. He eyed the nearby chairs, but didn't see it. Turning he looked at Magnus. "Uh . . . my shirt?"

Magnus' lips quirked upward as he lifted his finger lazily. "If you insist. But I might say, Alexander, that you look much better without it." Alec felt his cheeks flush as his shirt materialized over his chest once more, but he didn't say anything. And then he stood there awkwardly for a minute. Should he kiss him goodbye? Should he just go? Magnus, as if sensing his dilemma, grinned up at Alec. "Call me." And then he crawled across the bed and got to his knees in front of Alec. Snaking his fingers through his hair, Alec's pulse raced as Magnus pressed his lips against his, his tongue gliding along his lower lip seductively. Alec wrapped his arms around the warlock, pulling him hard against him. When Magnus pulled away, Alec almost fell forward, not realizing how much he had been leaning into the kiss. And then he was grinning what he was probably sure was the goofiest grin ever, but he couldn't stop himself. Magnus, looking satisfied, winked and laid back down on the bed watching as Alec backed out the door.

Despite what he had told Magnus, once he was outside, he was in fact running. Though he couldn't run on the subway. Sitting he thought, as he had a bout a hundred times before needing the escape of Magnus, about what he had learned after Jace had left the Institute today. He could understand where his mother was coming from, though he didn't think she had needed to send him away for it. If she would have just thought to ask him and Izzy first, they could have told her that they knew Jace was telling the truth when it came to not knowing about his relation to Valentine. Alec couldn't explain it, but he knew down in his core that Jace had not lied about that. But he had also felt hurt when he learned the truth about Hodge—something Jace _had_ lied about. He had loved Hodge, so that was a bad blow for him. It had been Hodge who had contacted Magnus for him when he had laid dying. Alec sighed. The rest of the trip back to the Institute was frustratingly slow.

Pulling back the gate of the lift, he had barely taken two steps when his mother was blocking him. "Where were you?" she asked suspiciously.

"Walking." Alec responded. It was true enough. He had walked to Magnus's and then he had walked back here. And then he shrugged. "Thinking." His mother's eyes softened, a sad smile playing on her lips.

"This must be hard for you—"

"Are you going to try to stop me from seeing Jace?" He cut her off, as much to his surprise as her own. "Isabelle said that you wouldn't let her see him when he got back."

His mother took a deep breath, her shoulders drawing back. "At the time, I thought it best that he be left alone to think about what is about to happen. To come to terms with what he has decided to do."

Alec frowned, his stomach twisting. "Why? What has he decided to do?"

"Jace has decided to stay here, and to be tried by the Sword." Alec felt his mouth drop. So it had come to that? "So now the Inquisitor is getting involved. She will be here shortly. but—" his mother sighed. "You know how Jace is—how he can be if he thinks someone is being rude."

"In fairness," Alec said pointedly, "Jace is like that _regardless_ of someone being rude. That's just Jace."

"Exactly," his mother said, her eyes dark. "You have to understand, son, the Inquisitor—she is not going to be nice to Jace. She hates Valentine, as many do. So the fact that he's Valentine's son . . ." Alec stared at his mother with open shock. That—that couldn't be right. She was the Inquisitor. She was supposed to be fair! She was not supposed to make this personal. Seeing the horror on Alec's face, his mother sighed. "But she is also here for the truth, as is her job. And if Jace is telling the truth—"

"He _is _ telling the truth, mom." he cut her off.

His mother's eyes flashed as her lips became a razor thin line. "Well then he has nothing to fear but his mouth." she said, her voice tight. "And no, I will not keep you from your _parabatai,"_ she added. "In fact, if you could go get him for me. I'd like to go over some things about the Inquisitor with him before she gets here. Bring him to the library."

Alec took a breath and nodded. He watched his mother turn and walk away before he made his way to Jace's room. He was going to be tried by the Sword? He was really going to do that? He could understand why he would, but it still didn't make him feel any better about it. He had never had to have the Soul-Sword used on him, but he knew what it entailed. And it wasn't pleasant. Reaching Jace's door, he looked down at his watch. Was it really midnight? He shook his head and knocked tentatively at first. And then louder. He was in the middle of knocking again when the door was thrown open and Jace stood there blinking in surprise. His blonde hair was in disarray, and there were dark bruises on his face and healed cuts on his knuckles. Alec had to bite back on his shock at his brother's appearance.

"Alec?" Jace said, blinking away the sleep and Alec's stomach flipped at the vulnerability he heard in his voice. It wasn't often that he got to hear that. Alec could feel his palms begin to sweat, and he shoved them hastily into his pockets. Jace's shirt was covered in dried blood, too. And there were holes where it had been ripped, his sculpted abdomen peaking through.

"Sorry it's so late," Alec shrugged, his dark hair falling in his eyes as he tried to sound casual but feeling self-conscious instead. "Mom sent me to get you. She want's to see you in the library."

"What time is it?" Jace asked, his brows knitting together curiously.

"Almost midnight," he said, looking up.

Jace looked incredulous as he took in Alec's clothes before meeting his eyes. "What the hell are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep." That was also the truth. Lying seemed to be much easier when it was partial truth, Alec mused. Not that he wasn't tired. Jace stared at him for minute, as if deciding something for himself, and then nodded.

"All right," he said as he ran his fingers through his golden locks. _Locks? Alec_ thought suddenly with horror. Had he really just described Jace's hair as _golden locks?_ He sighed internally. He was spending way too much time with Magnus. "Hang on a second while I change my shirt." Jace turned and disappeared back into his room. Alec followed slowly as he looked around his brother's immaculately clean room. Not for the first time he wondered if Jace had OCD when it came to his room. Everything so perfect, and nothing out of place. He stood back and watched as Jace got into his wardrobe and meticulously picked through it until he found a shirt he wanted—a dark blue one with long sleeve. And then he saw him wince slightly as he pulled the bloodied shirt off. Alec's stomach dropped as he saw that the bruises weren't exclusive to his face. The hard planes of his chest and stomach were darkened with bruises. He couldn't look any longer. Alec turned away, his heart rapidly pounding.

"What happened to you?" he tried to sound casual, but he could tell he had failed. He wasn't Jace. His tone was like a stretched wire that was about to break. But if Jace noticed, he didn't comment on it. He merely shrugged casually.

"Picked a fight with a pack of werewolves." Jace tugged the shirt over his head, and turned to look at Alec; who was sure he looked as horrified as he felt. Not for the first time, he feared for his _parabatai. _He knew that he had been looking for distractions, but to take on a pack of werewolves by himself . . . he could feel his anger begin to swell in him. Was he ever going to stop trying to get himself killed? Was he ever going to stop and just once think about others? About him and Isabelle and what would happen if—he didn't want to think about it. Alec turned and stepped out in the hall, shaking his head.

"You have something on your neck," Jace said suddenly.

Alec's stomach dropped as horror flooded him, his hand flying to throat. "What?"

"Looks like a bite mark," Jace said, his voice traced with amusement now. _Oh, dear God no_, Alec thought horrified. _A bite mark?_ Like—like a _hickey?_ He kept his hand over his neck, as he felt the heat rush to his face. _That's_ what Magnus had been doing? Alec locked his jaw as Jace quickened his pace in order to fall into line with him, his eyes narrowed as his lips ticked upward. "What have you been doing all night, anyway?"

"Nothing." Alec's heart jackhammered as he tried desperately to make that one word sound believable. He kept walking, not looking at Jace, who he could feel staring at him. He wished he would stop. He didn't want him to see it—_especially_ not him. "I went walking in the park. Tried to clear my head." That didn't sound believable at all. Apparently, Jace didn't think so either.

"And ran into a vampire?" he mused.

"What? No!" Alec looked at him annoyed. Couldn't he just drop it? He shook his head. "I fell."

"On your _neck?" _Jace pressed, his brow lifting now and Alec growled with irritation. _Just stop_, he wanted to shout. He was already embarrassed enough without having the guy he was in love with pressing him about—he shook his head. "Fine, whatever," Jace said then, shrugging and rolling his eyes. Alec could tell it was more with amusement than with being upset at his insistence to not be tell him, however. "What did you need to clear your head about?" He asked instead, and Alec sighed in relief—though he kept his hand on his neck.

"You," he said truthfully. "My parents. My mother explained why they were so angry after you left. And she explained about Hodge," he threw a dark glance at Jace. "Thanks for not telling me that, by the way."

"Sorry," Jace said, his face flushing. "I couldn't bring myself to do it, somehow."

Alec dropped his hand. He could feel his anger at having been lied to building. He wasn't a child. He could have handled the truth about Hodge. "Well it doesn't look good," he said. It was this kind of thing that was making it hard for his parents to trust Jace. Didn't he understand that? And now that he was going to be tried by the Sword . . . and knowing what he did about the Inquisitor . . . to know that Hodge was working with Valentine, but to keep it to himself—it was the kind of thing she was going to be looking for. "It looks like you were hiding things. Things about Valentine."

Jace stopped but it was a second before Alec realized it. Turning, he saw that Jace was staring at him in both anger and hurt. "Do _you_ think I was lying?" he breathed with venom. "About not knowing Valentine was my father?"

_What— _"No!" he cried out. That wasn't it all! That's not what he meant! Alec looked at Jace with shock and he could see the pain in his brother's eyes. A pain he was usually so good at covering. Perhaps after all that had happened—all he had been through—this was just the one thing that he couldn't hide anymore. This worried him. "And I don't care who your father is," Alec tried to reassure him. He had to know this. If he believed nothing else, then he needed to believe this. "It doesn't matter to me. You're still the same person."

"Whoever that is," Jace blurted, his voice like ice and Alec's heart broke for him. _You're Jace,_ he wanted to say. _Jace Wayland. My parabatai. My brother. An amazing Shadowhunter. A smart ass. _Instead he sighed.

"Im just saying," Alec said slowly, thinking about his mother's words. "You can be a little—harsh sometimes. Just think before you talk, that's all I'm asking. No one's your enemy here, Jace."

Jace's face was blank then. Completely void of emotion. "Well, thanks for the advice," he said lightly. And then he continued before Alec could comment on it. "I can walk myself the rest of the way to the library."

He stalked past Alec. "_Jace_—" he called after him, but with no luck. Jace was already rounding a corner. Alec sighed and pushed his hair back out of his face. He walked slowly, hoping that he would listen to his mother. Hoping that Jace would get through this. He was here for him. He would always be here for him. But Jace had to want the help. He stopped outside Izzy's room and knocked dejectedly, listening as she yelled for him to come in. Pushing open the door, he turned to close it and then looked at his sister, who was sitting on her clustered bed. Her eyes narrowed.

"YOU HAVE A HICKEY!"

######

Maryse thought a lot about the events the day had taken as she flat out ran to the library. She still couldn't believe that Lucian was alive. Valentine had told them all what had happened, and the mercy he had taken on his old _parabatai._ She herself had seen the thin white scar that had once been Valentine's Mark binding the two. But Valentine was a liar. So maybe she shouldn't have been all that surprised that Lucian was alive. And then there was the fact that Jace was back. That he had chosen to stay here—not only for himself, but because he was worried about what trouble she might get in if he wasn't when Imogen—the Inquisitor—had gotten here. She had kicked him out. Had accused him of being in league with Valentine, and helping him get away with the Mortal Cup—and he was still worried about her getting in trouble. She couldn't understand it. Not long after she had ran into Alec and asked him to get Jace for her, she had run into Isabelle, who told her that the Inquisitor was here and waiting in the library for them. Her heart had sunk at the thought of Jace being in there alone with that woman. She had told Alec that the Inquisitor had hated Valentine, but that was an understatement. Absolutely _loathed_ might be a better description. Maryse also knew she was going to be out for blood. That she was going to use Jace in hopes of hurting Valentine as he had hurt her. Rounding the corner, she saw as Jace entered the library. _Dammit!_ She moved forward quickly and grabbed the door handle. She took a deep breath, trying to slow her racing heart before following him inside.

Moving through the shelves, she came up quietly behind Jace. Imogen, a tall thin blonde woman, was standing and looking at him as if he were a threat that needed to be put down. Maryse had to bite back on the protective surge that ran through her. Whatever happened now, she knew she would be powerless to stop. "Are you the boy?" the Inquisitor asked.

"Yes Inquisitor," Maryse spoke up before Jace could answer. She knew how he felt at being called a "boy," and she wanted to stop whatever smart ass retort he might have planned. "This is Jonathan Morgenstern." Jace cast a look at her that clearly said he didn't like being called Jonathan either, but he said nothing. And then she watched as the Inquisitor rounded the desk, approaching Jace. Her heart thundered in her chest with each step she took. Her gray robes billowed silently around her as she stopped in front of Jace, her eyes like acid.

"Look at me boy" the Inquisitor said, and then with lightning quickness, she had grabbed Jace by the chin roughly and jerked his face up. Maryse took a step forward, anger surging through her, before she caught herself and stopped. She balled her fists at her side as the Imogen continued. "You will call me Inquisitor. You will not call me anything else. Do you understand?"

Maryse's stomach twisted as Jace stared at the woman holding his face. She couldn't see the look he was giving her, but if she knew Jace. _Please,_ she wanted to say, _please cooperate, Jace. Please don't give her a reason. _The seconds ticked by as Jace continued to say nothing. Maryse took a tentative step forward just as Jace finally spoke. "My name is Jace," he said, and she could hear the defiance in his voice. "Not boy. Jace Wayland." Maryse sighed. _Son of a bitch._

The Inquisitor reared back, her eyes flashing as her fingers tightened on Jace's face. If it was hurting him, he didn't show it. "You have no right to that name," she spit venomously. "You are Jonathan Morgenstern. To claim the name of Wayland makes you a liar. Just like your father."

"Actually," Jace popped off with a bored air of superiority that made Maryse cringe. "I prefer to think that I'm a liar in a way that is uniquely my own."

Maryse's fists were convulsing now. He needed to stop. He needed to understand that he was doing himself no favors. And she hated that she could nothing to either stop or protect him. She could only stand there and watch—torn between her fear of Valentine's son and her love for her adopted child. "I see," the Inquisitor grinned nastily. "You are intolerant of authority, just as your father was." Maryse noticed that each time she referred to Jace's father, she spit it out like it were something foul in her mouth. "Like the angel whose name you both bear. Lucifer was rewarded for his rebellion when God cast him into the pits of hell." She leaned in, her eyes malicious. "If you defy _my _authority, I can promise that you will envy him his fate."

Maryse was standing next to Jace now, and she could see the slight tremble in his hands—the only sign that he was angry—as the Inquisitor stepped away. Her eyes widened as she saw a trickle of blood run down Jace's chin. She had known that the Inquisitor would not show Jace any sort of kindness, but this was downright hate. She had come to investigate—to get the truth. But this . . . what she was doing—it was goading him. Trying to make him lash out. The only problem was, she didn't know Jace like Maryse did. She didn't know how Jace lashed out. She looked at the Inquisitor as she turned back around to glare at Jace. "Imogen—" she swallowed, old habits dying hard. "Inquisitor Herondale," she corrected. "He's agreed to a trial by the Sword. You can find out whether he's telling the truth."

The Inquisitor's eyes flashed hatefully to Maryse, and her heart began to pound. It wasn't the look that sent her pulse racing though. She had dealt with plenty of hateful glares. No, it was what that hateful glare represented. "About his father?" Imogen said her eyes flashing. "Yes. I know I can." And then her brow raised as she looked at Maryse speculatively. "You know, Maryse, the Clave is not pleased with you." Maryse drew back her shoulders. "You and Robert are the guardians of the Institute," the Inquisitor continued icily. "You're just lucky your record over the years has been relatively clean. Few demonic disturbances until recently, and everything's been quiet the past few days. No reports, even from Idris, so the Clave is feeling lenient." And then, though she was still talking to Maryse, she looked at Jace. "We have sometimes wondered if you'd actually rescinded your allegiance to Valentine. As it is," her eyes sliced cruelly to Maryse, "he set a trap for you and you fell right into it. One might think you'd know better."

Maryse took a breath. She had known that having been as close to Valentine as she had been once, that they might look at her. Might wonder or assume that she had knowingly taken in his child. But she hadn't known. She had truly thought Jace was Michael's son. Her jaw was set, her eyes hard as she looked at the Inquisitor. But before she could respond, Jace crossed his arms. "There was no trap," he said pointedly, but not looking at Maryse. "My father knew the Lightwoods would raise me if they thought I was Michael Wayland's son. That's all."

The Inquisitor cocked her head as she looked at Jace like he was nothing more than a slug. "Do you know about the cuckoo bird, Jonathan Morgenstern?" she spit his last name. Jace looked at her with bewilderment, but Maryse stared with caution; her body stiff as she waited for the hammer to fall. "The what?" Jace finally asked.

"The cuckoo bird," Imogen repeated with a lightness that sent a cold shiver running down Maryse's spine. "You see, cuckoos are parasites. They lay their eggs in other birds' nests. When the egg hatches, the baby cuckoo pushes the other baby birds out of the nest. The poor parents work themselves to death trying to find enough food to feed the enormous cuckoo child who has murdered their babies and taken their place."

"Enormous?" Jace's brows shot up as if he had been insulted. "Did you just call me fat?"

Maryse closed her eyes, her body shaking with fear and anger and just a bit of pride for Jace. Had the Inquisitor really been trying to say that Jace had theoretically murdered her children and then forced herself and Robert to take care of him? That was simply not true—and the strangest form of pity she had ever heard. She hated pity. She would rather have Imogen's glaring hate, than her false and forced pity. But then, not for the first time, she also wished Jace would learn to hold his tongue. But she was still proud of him for standing his ground. And the fact that he had come to her defense before she had even had a chance to open her mouth? Somewhere in front of her, the Inquisitor spoke dryly. "It was an analogy."

"I'm not fat," he retorted.

"And I," Maryse said, opening her eyes and taking a step toward the Inquisitor. She could hear the controlled anger in her tone. "Don't want your pity, Imogen." This time she had meant to say the Inquisitor's name, and she had meant to say it with as much derision as she could. "I refuse to believe the Clave would punish either myself or my husband for choosing to bring up the son of a dead friend," she said matter-of-fact as the Inquisitor's eyes narrowed dangerously. Maryse swallowed nervously then, and her next words were said more carefully. "It isn't as if we didn't tell them what we were doing."

"And I've never harmed any of the Lightwoods in any way," Jace added. "I've worked hard, and trained hard—say whatever you want about my father, but he made a Shadowhunter out of me." The Inquisitors eyes widened, her jaw locking. Maryse knew that Jace had just said the wrong thing to her, but she couldn't stop him from continuing. "I've earned my place here."

"_Don't," _she hissed, stepping forward, "Defend your father to me. He was—is—the vilest of men."

Jace raised a brow. "Vile? Who says 'Vile'? What does that even mean?"

Imogen narrowed her eyes as she glared at Jace. She looked like a cobra ready to strike. "You _are_ arrogant," she said, her voice like arsenic. "As well as intolerant. Did your father teach you to behave this way?"

"Not to him."

Maryse's eyes snapped to Jace's face, her eyes wide, as she swallowed nervously. But the Inquisitor didn't seem upset by his short answer at all. It was like she had expected it. "Then you are aping him. Valentine was one of the most arrogant and disrespectful men I've ever met. I suppose he brought you up to be just like him."

"Yes," Jace said, his voice mild as his brow ticked upward. Maryse's pulse began to quicken. "I was trained to be an evil mastermind from a young age—" _Oh, dear God no. _"—Pulling the wings off flies, poisoning the earths water supply—" _Shut up, shut up, shut up! For the love of the Angel, shut up! _He didn't. "I was covering that stuff in kindergarten." And then he shrugged with speculation. "I guess we're all just lucky my father faked his own death before he got to the raping and pillaging part of my education—" Maryse sighed. "—or no one would be safe," he finished, a humorless smirk on his lips.

Maryse shook her head and groaned. What was he doing? Why, why couldn't he just, for once in his life, not make it worse for himself? "Jace—"

"And just like your father," the Inquisitor cut her off, her eyes flashing, "you cant keep your temper. The Lightwoods have coddled you—" Maryse snapped her eyes to Imogen, taking offense. She didn't notice, however. "—and let your worst qualities run rampant. You may look like an angel, Jonathan Morgenstern, but I know exactly what you are."

And then Maryse knew. She knew without knowing how she knew, that Imogen never planned to be fair to Jace. That she wanted nothing more than to see him suffer. She swallowed her pride and her anger. "He's just a boy," she breathed, wondering if they could hear the pleading in her tone. It had been a long time since she had pleaded with anyone. Not like this. She stared at Imogen. Was Jace the son of Valentine? Yes. Did he know that he was his son, and was this all apart of some big plan of Valentines? She couldn't tell her because she didn't know for sure, herself—though she wanted to desperately believe that he didn't. But all that aside, he was still just a child—one who was willing to be tried by the Sword. _And he wasn't responsible for Stephen, _Maryse thought with anger.

But the Inquisitor dismissed her plea. "Valentine was just a boy once," she said before turning her hateful eyes on Jace, and Maryse closed her eyes as she tried to calm her racing heart. She felt it coming. What, she wasn't sure. But she knew it wasn't good. "Now," she heard Imogen say cruelly. "Before we do any digging around in that blonde head of yours to find out the truth, I suggest you cool your temper. And I know just where you can do that best."

Maryse opened her eyes and saw Jace blinking in surprise, his lip twitching upward. "Are you sending me to my room?"

"I'm sending you to the prisons of the Silent City," she grinned venomously. Maryse's eyes popped wide as fear flooded her. "After a night there I suspect you'll be a great deal more cooperative."

Maryse gasped, her head shaking rapidly and her hear jackhammering. No. This couldn't be—she couldn't do this. Sure his mouth left something to be desired but—_no!_ "Imogen—you can't!"

Imogen turned on her. "I certainly can," she said, before turning back to Jace. "Do you have anything to say to me, Jonathan?"

Maryse stared hard at Jace, her head still shaking as she raised her hands to her mouth. _Don't say anything . . . please Jace, know when to stop, _she begged silently. Jace was staring at the Inquisitor with a blank face, but Maryse could see the tension in his shoulders that mirrored hers. She could see his fisted hands in his crossed arms. But he continued to say nothing.

"Very wise, Jonathan," the Inquisitor said. "I see you're already learning the best lesson the Silent City has to teach." She grinned. "How to keep your mouth shut." And then she turned to Maryse, "You may pick him up later today."

And for the first time since Maryse had seen the woman standing in the library, she wanted to punch her. She wanted to scream and throw herself at the her. She wanted to physically hurt her to the point that her muscles were becoming strained with the tension of keeping herself rooted. No one seemed to notice this internal struggle she was going through as Jace and Imogen glared at one another icily. She had seen this look on Jace many times—most recently, when she had told him to leave the Institute. And now she was wishing he hadn't come back. And she felt helpless as she stood there. Knowing she couldn't stop the Inquisitor from inflicting this form of punishment. But the Silent City! That was where they took the worst criminals! Not—not adolescent youths who had a knack for being smart asses. And then she watched, unable to do anything as Jace turned, his eyes avoiding hers, and walked to the door. Imogen said nothing, but grinned cruelly as she inclined her head to Maryse, and followed Jace out of the room.

She doesn't know how long she continued to stand there after they left. It wasn't until the library doors were pulled open again, and Isabelle and Alec peaked their heads in, that she even remotely moved. "Mom?" Isabelle asked. Maryse swallowed. "Where is the Jace going? Why was he leaving with the Inquisitor?"

She looked at her daughter, who everyone thought was so much like her. But they were wrong. Her daughter was good. Her daughter would never make the poor decisions she had. Maryse squared her shoulders. "The Inquisitor," she said, glad to hear her voice was steady. "Thinks it would be best for Jace to spend the night in the Silent City."

"Did the Sword not work?" Alec asked, worry on his face.

"She did not use it," she answered truthfully.

"But then . . . why would he need to go to the Silent—" Isabelle began, but Maryse shook her head.

"He's going to be staying the night in the prison until . . ." Her voice died away as both her children lost color.

"And you didn't try to stop her?" Isabelle suddenly shouted. "You let her take Jace to . . . to . . ." She took a breath, unable to finish as she turned away from her. Maryse looked at Alec, who was shaking his head sadly.

"I thought," he said with quiet disappointment. "That even if you hadn't believed him, you might have believed me. But you just let him go. Like he was a criminal. He didn't ask to be born, mom. He cant help who is father is. And he didn't ask you to raise him. Maybe he should be the one disappointed."

That was more of a slap to her than Isabelle's yelling. Isabelle's outrage, Maryse was used to. But to hear Alec's tone—sweet Alec who was always so in tune to people's emotions—who was always the one stopping Isabelle from her tirades against her and Robert—that hurt. Maryse swallowed, feeling defensive. "What he can help," she said icily as she met Alec's gaze with her own, "is his tone. And if he thought that back talking and being rude to the Inquisitor was going to get him very far—then perhaps he deserves to spend a night there." It had come out of her mouth before she could stop it, and Isabelle gasped. She didn't really believe that, but she only looked at her children, too proud to take it back. Neither of her children said a word. "I'm going to bed," she finally said, pulling her robes tight around herself. "I suggest you both do the same."

She pushed past them and out of the library. She kept her eyes hard and her body straight the whole way to her room. But once her door was closed. Once she had shut out the world where no one could see her, Maryse slumped against the wall and slid to the floor as tears fell from her eyes.


	6. Surrender

**~Chapter Five~**

**Surrender**

There were many levels to the Silent City. Down and down it went into varying degrees of darkness lit only by the greenish-blue torches. It was easy for one to get lost. Easier still, for one to lose their mind—_if_ they weren't strong enough to keep it in the first place. It was why the Silent Brothers resided there, and had resided there for years and years. It was a place between places, neither here nor there. But it was always reachable regardless of which corner of the earth you stood. It was also said to be well protected by runes, enchantments, and the bones of great Shadowhunters. Impenetrable. And if one _did_ manage to get past the wards, they would not get much farther than that before they were faced with the terrifying might of the Silent Brothers. Valentine despised this place. But he also knew it was needed. Places like this—like the Silent City—they were a necessary for Shadowhunters to be able to move forward. At least, they once were. Back before the Clave were a bunch of stubborn self righteous "do-gooders" who weren't doing anyone any good at all. They were killing the Shadowhunters. They were killing everything they were supposed to stand for. But not anymore. Not now. Not that he was back. He would not allow it. He would succeed where he had once failed.

He already had the blood from a warlock. And the blood of the fey. He had nearly had the blood from the werewolf pup, had the other werewolf not gotten in the way. But it was only a minor bump in the road, and he refused to let himself get upset over it. Spending ten years hiding at the Wayland Manor had taught him one thing he had never had before. Patience. His lips ticked upward as he made his way down the cold dark steps. Further into the City of Bones. A fitting name, for that's what he would leave if they would not comply. Anyone else, they would have noticed by now. But this wasn't anyone else. This was him. He—who had pushed the bounds of Covenant, Law, and religion further than any other Shadowhunter had dared. He—who was not afraid of pain in the name of progress. And he would kill anyone who tried to stop him.

He stepped into the large cavernous room where a council of Silent Brothers sat, and crossed his arms with mirth. His Shadowhunter battle gear allowed him the freedom to move silently, and his runes ensured it. The Sword sat behind them, gleaming, and Valentine eyed it greedily. They still did not notice that he was standing there. The Greater demon had been right in how to shield himself from them. Finally he cleared his throat and watched as one by one the men turned their faces toward where he stood. Valentine looked at each of them with quiet amusement. The Silent Brothers did not show emotion on their scarred and mutilated faces, but he was sure it was there. Somewhere behind their closed eyes and sewed lips. He was sure that they had never been surprised like this before. Even now, Valentine could feel the pressing against the armor around his mind as they tried to break in.

"Enough," he said out loud. But it didn't stop. He could feel the pressure as they tried harder to find a chink in his armor. Though he knew they wouldn't, the constant probing was getting annoying. "Try as you like, you will not reach my mind," he said to the men. "But I also know that that is how you communicate, and I would very much like to communicate." Valentine smiled politely, knowing that their sightless eyes could see him clearly. "So I brought a translator." Valentine gestured to the large archway he had just walked through and watched as the large black abyss that was Agramon curled through the door, before taking the shape of something large and grotesque. It's diamond eyes never blinked. Though almost imperceptible, Valentine caught the slight ripple that surged through the Silent Brothers, and he grinned.

"They are retreating into their minds," Agramon spoke out loud. "They are scared."

"Of course they are," Valentine mused, shoving his hand into his pocket and running a finger along the edge of the Mortal Cup. "But you have no need to be," he said to the men now, who still have not moved. "I have no intention of causing any of you any harm—unless you refuse me." One of the Silent Brothers stood now, and Valentine cocked his head quizzically to look at him. He was old, as they all were, but younger than some of the others. His parchment skin was tight across his face, and the runes that had been cut deep into his cheeks and across his lips shimmered.

"This one wishes to know what you want," Agramon said, sounding bored.

Valentine's grin widened. "So we will forgo the pleasantries then," he said, keeping his tone light. "Very well. I have no time for such things anyway." And then he took a step toward them his arms wide. He could still feel the probing on his mind, but he was figuring out how to push back—to fortify his already well constructed fortress. "Brothers, what I want from you is the Soul-Sword. It is not yours to keep anyway. It belongs to all Nephilim, and as a son of the Angel, I require it. Give me the Sword and I will be on my way with no harm done to you—any of you."

One by one, he watched as faces turned silently toward the Brother who stood. Next to him, the Greater demon swirled and bubbled like boiling tar before taking on yet another gruesome shape. While it was disgusting, Valentine had grown used to it. "They are all talking at once," Agramon said out loud. "But the answer is there. They will not give you the Sword."

Valentine felt the bite of fury surge through him, and he had to fight to keep it down. He kept the pleasant smile on his face. "Surely, you all do not wish to die?" he said logically. "You, who have been here longer than all of us. It would almost be a crime to spill such pure blood. _Do not be foolish." _His tone took an air of warning as he said that last part.

Everyone was silent then as they all turned to face Valentine. He watched, the polite expression still on his face. Then without warning, Agramon struck forward and wrapped one of the Silent Brothers in his massive dark form and a second later a scream penetrated through the air. It was a piercing and terrified scream, and Valentine wondered for a moment if they had gotten past his mental blockade before realizing that it was the true voice of the Silent Brother. This greatly intrigued him. It was a beautiful ethereal sound. It wasn't until Agramon released the Silent Brother, who dropped to the floor with a loud thunk, that anyone moved. Valentine watched without concern as the men before him converged into a group. The one who had stood first, had the sword held in his hand now. Valentine smiled, his brow quirking upward, as the Greater demon took it's place at his side once more in a newly misshapen form.

"Was that really necessary?" he asked indifferently.

"That one tried to enter the vastness of my thoughts," the demon said callously, "with the hopes of controlling me. He will not try again."

Valentine shrugged. "Very well." And then he turned to the others who stood together. His arms open and false remorse on his face. "That," he said, indicating the fallen Silent Brother, "was regrettable. Surely, you do not want to meet the same fate? Surely you must see that giving me the Sword is the only sensible thing to do here?"

Agramon cocked his large protuberant head, his gleaming eyes still unblinking. "They will not yield. They will not give you anything willingly. They would rather die."

Valentine sighed overloud as he took in the remaining Silent Brothers. Truth be told, he really didn't care one way or the other. And then he shrugged. "So be it." With lightning quickness, he pulled both a seraph blade from his belt and flung himself forward at the same time that Agramon uncoiled himself and wrapped yet another Silent Brother into himself—another scream renting the air. The thing about Silent Brothers, Valentine mused, was that they were not warriors. Not anymore. So that they would still chose to stand against him, even with their only form of fighting denied to them, almost gave him sense of pride for his kind. But it wasn't enough to keep him from taking what he wanted. Either they stood with him, or they stood against him. Valentine was intrigued to see the quickness with which the Silent Brothers moved, as well. The once upon a time Shadowhunters still had that in them, at least.

For the most part, Valentine left the Silent Brothers to the Greater demon as he went for the one with the Sword. The demon swirled and oozed, smoked and slithered, as he moved from Brother to Brother with ease—each one screaming out in their unearthly and unused voices before dropping. From his peripheral, he saw one of the Silent Brother's charging toward him, and he turned and sent his blade flying. It spun over on itself before lodging into the man's chest and sending him sprawling to the floor. Valentine smiled, bringing his attention back to the Brother with the Sword. He had backed against a wall and Valentine could tell by looking at him that he was not a fighter. "Come now," he grinned mockingly. "Give me the sword." The Silent Brother shook his head, and Valentine could feel the crushing force on his withstanding mental barrier. He sighed. "This is getting tedious." And then with lightning quickness, he pinned the Silent Brother to the wall. He could feel the rage that coursed through him on a regular basis begging to be released. He could feel the hate that he had to push back all the time. This was the real him. This was his true self. And he allowed it to flow freely from him. He smiled cruelly at the captive Silent Brother as he pulled a small razor sharp dagger, no longer than a letter opener, from his belt. "I also don't intend to guess what you might be trying to say," he said, his voice malicious. "And as you can see, my demon is busy, so he can't translate." Bringing the rune'd dagger up, Valentine felt the hate pounding in his chest as he brought it to the Silent Brother's lips. "Give me the Sword."

He knew he could easily take the Sword. He could easily remove it from the Silent Brother's now trembling hands. But he wouldn't. He wanted the Silent Brother to hand it to him. He wanted to know that they had conceded to his wish. The Brother shook his head.

"What?" Valentine asked, his heart pounding with rage though his tone was soft and mocking. "I didn't hear you." He glared at the Brother whose face appeared hollow do to his lack of eyes. Valentine had once been curious about the mutilation they endured as part of the Silent Brothers rituals. He then glanced down to Brother's sewn lips and he grinned.

Savagely and without compunction, Valentine dug the blade between the Brother's lips. He felt the skin slice between the blessed razor sharp dagger—felt the Brother tense up as he tried fruitlessly to shove him back—and watched the blood run down the man's chin as he sliced away the threads that bound his mouth. And yet, Valentine only grinned wider as he mutilated the man, his eyes seething with malice as he drug the blade roughly through his lips. When he was done, he stepped back and the Brother fell to his knees. "There," Valentine said, his voice like arsenic. "Now, what were you saying?" The Brother still said nothing, and Valentine could feel his impatience growing. Angrily, he cast an eye around the room where the other Silent Brothers lay dead. Agramon was swirling and churning behind him now, waiting for Valentine's orders. He turned back to the Silent Brother kneeling in front of him and cast a curious look at him. He had the Sword in his hand, the tip of the blade digging into the ground as he leaned heavily on the hilt. Valentine had thought that he might have tried to use it on him, but he had not. _Interesting._ He kneeled down in front of him. Reaching forward, he placed a hand on the Brother's trembling shoulder, but was careful not to touch the Soul Sword. No—before this was over, the Brother would willingly give it to him. "What is your name?"

Still nothing.

"That one is Jeremiah," Agramon breathed behind him. "Also," the demon continued, "one of them managed to raise the alarm before I killed him."

Valentine nodded, though he could feel the irritation at the demon for failing to stop it. He had known that might happen, though. Drawing his shoulders back, he looked at the Silent Brother in front of him. "_Brother_ Jeremiah," he said gently, his voice consoling. "You can't want to meet the same fate. The Sword, Brother Jeremiah, that's all I want. This—" he gestured behind him to the gruesome scene, "—was unfortunate. I only want the Sword. And then we will go." He looked down to the Brother's hands wrapped around the Sword. Carefully, he brought his hand up and wrapped his long fingers around the hilt, just under the Brothers. "Give it to me."

Jeremiah shuddered, and then to Valentine's delight, he slowly removed his hands. He grinned triumphantly as he stood up and placed the sword in the sheath he had strapped to his back. And then the Silent Brother ran. Valentine watched, his head cocked and a brow raised with amusement, as Jeremiah bolted toward a small archway across the room.

"Kill him."

Agramon slithered after the Silent Brother, who had disappeared through the darkened archway. Valentine walked slowly after them, smiling as he felt the slight thumping of the Sword against his back. He placed the small dagger back into his belt, and in doing so noticed the blood on his hand. He frowned as he raised it to look at the thick red liquid curiously. He wondered briefly what kind of properties a Silent Brother's blood possessed, what with the powerful runes they used and their longevity. But this was tainted. If he were going to experiment with Silent Brother blood, it would need to be fresh and unspoiled. Sighing, he reached down and lifted the robes of one of the dead that lay at his feet and wiped his hands clean, before stepping over him and following the others through the doorway and down the wiring stone steps that followed. Up ahead, he could hear Agramon whispering, though he could not make out the words. Each person had their own fears—their own nightmares—and Agramon knew them. Fed on them. He heard the Silent Brother scream. When he reached the bottom of the steps, the Greater Demon was pushing himself through a smaller door.

Following, he saw that they were in the prison of the Silent City. He had never been down here before, and he looked around curiously. Jeremiah was lying dead on the floor in front of one of the barred cells, and Agramon was lunging at a prisoner within. He watched as a greenish blue torch flickered out and a golden blonde head fell to the ground. A golden blond head that was all too familiar to him.

_This can't be_, Valentine thought with a bite of amusement and annoyance as he moved forward. Agramon hovered around the boy in the cell—his son. "Stop." He said sternly, and the Greater demon shuddered at the order, but did not move further. "Leave this one." The demon turned its piercing gaze to Valentine, who looked back fiercely. Agramon nodded grudgingly and slunk out of the cell. "Go on ahead," Valentine ordered, looking down at an unconscious Jonathan—why was he here? "Make sure there are no others to block our way out."

"As you wish," the Greater demon said silkily before turning and sifting from the room.

Valentine took a step toward the bars that held his son captive, being careful not to step in the blood of the dead Silent Brother at his feet. He noticed the cell wasn't the only thing keeping his son bound. He frowned, his eyes narrowing at the manacle that held Jonathan's bloodied wrist. Even from where he stood, he could see the dark circles under his sons eyes, and he looked thinner than the last time he had seen him. And then he felt a surge of bitterness as he thought of the last time he had seen his son. It had not been the reunion he had thought it would be—though it should have been. He had retrieved the Cup, he had retrieved his son . . . everything was as planned. Except Clarissa. She had not been planned. But he was good at dealing with the unexpected, and that should have been easy as well. He could not deny that he had been both surprised and angry to learn that he not only had a daughter but that Jocelyn had hidden her from him. He had also been greatly amused at the affection his children displayed toward one another. More than they would ever know. But then the dog showed up and ruined everything. Once again, he was forced to watch as something that should have been his chose the mongrel over him. He felt his face twist in anger, but then he took a breath and relaxed his muscles.

"Jonathan," he spoke and watched as his son stirred. Slowly, Jonathan blinked and rolled to his side.

"Is anyone there?" He called out.

Valentine rolled his eyes, his impatience flaring. But he was careful to not let it show. His voice was expressionless as he looked down at his son. "Surely you recognize your own father, Jonathan." And then he watched as Jonathan blinked again, before trying to get hastily to his feet but slipping. Jonathan fell back against the wall, his chains rattling, and Valentine saw him wince. His son did not try to get up again. Valentine watched him. He wasn't sure if it was because of the manacle that seemed to be cutting hard into his son's wrist, that he nearly fell, or of something else that had been done to him that caused him pain. He leaned in only slightly. "Are you hurt?" When his son said nothing, Valentine reached into his pocket and pulled out a witchstone and squeezed it. The light was bright, and he saw Jace squint as if the light hurt him. And then his son was looking around, his eyes wide.

"That thing," Jonathan said suddenly, his voice rough, "Where is it? What _was _it?"

Though Valentine knew he was talking about the Greater demon, he didn't answer. He only looked at his son blankly. He was so much older, now. Headstrong. How had he missed that? And _why_ was he here? And then he knew why. _Because he's my son, _he thought amused. He had warned Jonathan of this, but his son had not listened. But now he should be able to see the truth of it. Now he would know that he had spoken the truth and be more willing to join him. He looked down at his son's wrist again. "You _are _hurt," he said taking a step forward. "Who ordered you locked up here?" he asked curiously. "Was it the Clave? The Lightwoods?"

"It was the Inquisitor," Jonathan said from his place on the floor as he looked down and examine himself in the light of the rune-stone. The Inquisitor? He knew the Inquisitor well. Imogen Herondale. He also knew her son, _Stephen, _very well. He had died long ago, but one might say that even now, they shared a common interest. Valentine regarded Jonathan curiously. Took in his golden blonde hair and golden eyes. He shook his head. The boy was _his _son. _He_ had made him what he was—no one else. Valentine took a breath. But Jonathan was still weak. Still soft. And how very like Imogen to get herself involved especially after what happened to her traitorous son. Really, it was _such _a shame that he got himself surrounded by vampires like that. Valentine cleared the thoughts as he kneeled in front of his son. Regardless of whether it was the Inquisitor or the Clave who put him here, one thing was certain and his son needed to know this—

"The Inquisitor and the Clave are one and the same," he said calmly as he looked upon his son's shocked face. "And the Lightwoods should never have allowed this to happen." He looked at his son earnestly. "I would have never let anyone do this to you."

Jonathan leaned back, his narrowing eyes the only expression his face gave away. "Did you come here to kill me?"

"_Kill_ you?" Valentine was unable to hide his shock then, and that irritated him. Closing his mouth, he took a breath. "Why would I want to kill you?"

"Well," his son said slowly, his face tightly concealed. "why did you kill Jeremiah?" Valentine looked down at the Silent Brother who had been forever silenced curiously. "And don't," Jonathan continued, his voice stronger now, "bother feeding me some story about how you just happened to wander along after he spontaneously died. I know you did this."

A slight smile played on Valentine's lips as he stared at the dead Brother. Jonathan knew him. He had said it himself. But what he hadn't said, was that he knew him because he knew himself. He and his son were the same. Jonathan just needed to learn to embrace it. "I did kill him," Valentine finally said callously. "And the rest of the Silent Brother's as well. I had to." He looked up with the same blank face his son employed. "They had something I needed."

"What?" Jonathan retorted. "A sense of decency?"

His glibness was irritating, and he had definitely not learned this from him. All the same, Valentine maintained his calmness as he chose to ignore the jab. "This," he said instead, and removed the Soul-Sword from its sheath to show his son. "Maellartach."

Jonathan's eyes widened, unable or forgetting to hide his shock . . . and just maybe a little excitement as he stared at the Sword. "You _took_ the Silent Brothers' sword?" he asked, and Valentine frowned. Perhaps he had read his son wrong. He did not hear the excitement he had thought he had seen in his eyes. Wishful thinking perhaps. _C'est la vie_, he thought. He also didn't care for the way his son had accused him of taking it. Like he had stolen it.

"It was never theirs," Valentine said with strained calmness as he looked down at the Sword in his hand. "It belongs to all Nephilim. This is the blade with which the Angel drove Adam and Eve out of the garden. _And he placed at the east of the garden of Eden cherubim, and a flaming sword which turned every way." _

Jonathan looked unimpressed with the quote, and the corner of Valentine's mouth lifted upward. His son licked his lips. "What are you going to do with it?"

Valentine looked at his son, his brow ticking upward. Ah, now _that_ was the question, wasn't it? What would Valentine do with the Sword now that he has it? He shook his head, his eyes never leaving his son's angelic face. "I'll tell you that," he said slowly, "when I think I can trust you, and I know that you trust me." And he meant it.

"_Trust _you?" Jonathan sputtered, his eyes flashing. "After the way you sneaked through the Portal at Renwick's and smashed it so I couldn't come after you? And the way you tried to kill Clary?"

Rage surged through Valentine then at his son's insubordination, and he was unable to hide his anger as he spoke. "I would never have hurt your sister," and he made sure to emphasize the word sister cruelly as he remembered how he had walked in on them embracing. His daughter—the girl who had thrown herself on Lucian to protect him. He swallowed his hate. "Any more than I would hurt you," he added.

But Jonathan was shaking his head. "All you've ever done is hurt me!" he all but shouted at Valentine. "It was the Lightwoods who protected me!"

"Im not the one who locked you up here," Valentine snapped. He was growing tired of this. But if he wanted to go into this. Then they would. And he would hear what he had to say. "I'm not the one who threatens and distrusts you," he continued and he saw Jonathan flinch—though he doubted he'd have seen it if he hadn't been staring at him. Valentine continued unmercifully. "That's the Lightwoods and their friends in the Clave." And then he smiled at his son's blank expression—his refusal to show his emotions. "Seeing you like this," he said, his tone softer, "how they've treated you, and yet you remain stoic—I'm proud of you."

Jonathan blinked. "_What?" _

Valentine looked speculatively at his son. His young son, who was becoming a man. If he wanted Jonathan to join him, he would need to treat him as one, he supposed. "I realize now what I did wrong at Renwick's. I was picturing you as the little boy I left behind in Idris, obedient to my every wish. Instead I found a headstrong young man, independent and courageous, yet I treated you as if you were still a child. No wonder you rebelled against me."

"Rebelled? I—" Jonathan shook his head as he cut himself off. But Valentine saw it. He saw in his son's eyes that desire to be with him—that hurt and scared little boy that missed him—and he jumped on it. Using it against him.

"I never had a chance to explain my past to you, to tell you why I've done the things I've done," he said softly.

"There's nothing to explain," Jonathan spit, and Valentine had to hide the smirk on his face at his resiliency. Instead, he creased his brows, trying to show concern and a willingness to listen as Jonathan continued. "You killed my grandparents. You held mother prisoner. You slew other Shadowhunters to further your own ends."

Valentine kept his face solemn. "You only know half the facts, Jonathan," he said earnestly, though he was anything but. His son was losing his ability to hide his emotions, and Valentine could see them clearly now. How lonely he had been, how much he wanted to be near his father. He was handing Valentine ammunition and didn't even know it. "I lied to you when you were a child because you were too young to understand. Now you are old enough to be told the truth."

"So _tell_ me the truth," Jonathan begged.

Valentine reached through the bars, and placed his large hand over his sons. To his delight, Jonathan did not pull his hand away. "I want to trust you, Jonathan," he said, pulling his voice down sadly and Jonathan looked at him with pain in his eyes. "Can I?" Valentine asked.

His son was breathing hard now, as Valentine waited. All he needed was a yes—to know that his son was still his. That he would follow him—obey him. Jonathan exhaled, his shoulders slumping. "I wish . . ."

And then a loud bang and footsteps caught both their attention. Valentine jumped to his feet as he stared back at the doorway. He dimmed the witchlight. "Quicker than I thought," he said under his breath. And he had been so close. So very close. He looked back down at his son, who was looking past him.

"What's coming?" his son asked suddenly moving forward on his knees. "What is it?"

Valentine cocked his head. "I must go," he said, replacing the sword in it's sheath. "But we're not done, you and I."

Jonathan grabbed the bar, his eyes hard. "Unchain me," he demanded to Valentine's amusement. "Whatever it is, I want to be able to fight it."

Amused or not, he also knew that he would not be unchaining his son. Not when they had made so much progress here in the pits of the Silent City. Besides— "Unchaining you would hardly be a kindness now," he said as he extinguished his light completely. Lest they believe him responsible for the carnage here. When he saw his son again—and he _would _see his son again—he knew that it would be because he did not unchain him, that he would be free. And that he would choose to join him. But Jonathan didn't understand that now, which wasn't surprising to Valentine. He was screaming and pounding on the bars.

"No!" Jonathan begged now. "Father, _please."_ And Valentine took pleasure in hearing his son asking him for help. All the same, he would not get it. Most children never understood that the choices a parent made for them, were done in their best interest. In the dark, he smiled at the thought.

"When you want to find me, you will find me." he said. And then he turned from his son and left him there screaming in the dark. But Valentine wasn't worried about him. His son was a warrior—more than a warrior. He knew this because he knew what his son was made of. And he also knew that one of these days, Jonathan would find him. Find him and join him. And when that happened, he would have not just just the power of the Mortal Instruments on his side, but the power of both light and dark.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: <strong>So I hope you like the new chapter. It took me a while to write this one, because I actually wrote this chapter in a couple POV's before deciding on Valentine's. It seemed to fit better than the other ones. I also know it's kinda demented (especially the part where he slices open Jeremiah's lips), but I wanted to stay as true to Valentine as I could. An man who would murder his own son without a thought . . . I really doubt he has qualms with mutilation. All the same, I probably should have rated this chapter M, lol. Anyhoo, as always, thank you for reading and let me know what you think!_


	7. Out Of The Frying Pan And Into The Fire

**~Chapter Six~**

**Out Of The Frying Pan And Into The Fire**

_His father called to him to join him. He wouldn't beg, Jace knew better than that, but he also knew his father was losing his patience. He took a step forward. This was his path. He knew that. He had always known. Beside him, Clary was there. But for the first time ever, he didn't want her there. Not because he didn't love her—he did. But he knew what her being here meant. Knew what she was giving up. And she didn't belong here. She was good and sweet and beautiful. She was everything he wasn't. She was untouched by their father. And yet there she was, staring ahead at Valentine as she continued silently forward. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but under the watchful eye of their father—he knew he couldn't. No, not couldn't . . . shouldn't. When he looked back at his father, he saw himself already standing next to him. He stood tall and proud and he met his own eyes with loathing. He noticed that the usual golden of his eyes were black now. Black and hateful. His other self turned to look at Clary, and Jace swallowed nervously. He stopped and caught at Clary's arm, her vividly red curls bouncing as she turned to him. Her emerald eyes looked at him hard. Jace swallowed again._

_"__Go home, Clary," he said softly._

_Clary shook her head, no. _

_"__Please," he begged as he cast a glance up at his other self. Him but not him. He then looked at his father, who didn't seem to notice that there were two Jace's, before looking back at the girl he loved more than life. "Please!" _

_Clary shook her head again. "Where you go, I go." _

_Jace shook his head. Didn't she understand the danger she was in? Didn't she see the other him. The evil him? But she didn't. She only looked at Jace with those beautiful eyes that reminded him of home. "You're not safe here."_

_"__Neither are you." _

_And then Valentine stepped forward, a smile on his face. But Jace knew that smile—knew that it wasn't genuine. "Jonathan," he said, and Jace saw his other self look at his father, though he said nothing. "Why are you trying to send your sister away? Don't you _want _her?" _

_Jace heard the inflection behind the word, and he stared at his father. But surely he had heard wrong? His father wouldn't encourage such a relationship, would he? No. Of course not . . . right? His brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of his father's words. But he was unable to. Finally he shook his head and turned to look at Clary again, taking her by the arm and guiding her away from their father. "Please," he begged again. _

_"__No," she said stubbornly. _

_"__Why not?" Jace asked with exasperation, throwing his hands up. _

_"__Because I love you and I won't let you die without me." She said simply. As if it were the most simple thing in the world. Reaching up, she smiled and brushed his golden hair back with her fingers. All the time his other self only watched. Jace looked back at Clary, her reason catching him off guard. _

_"__Die?" he asked. "What do you mean?" _

_"__You died, Jace," she said, her full lips tugging down sadly as her hand trailed to his face as light as silk. "But I refuse to lose you, so I came to be with you. I chose to die too." _

_No. Please, dear God no. Jace shook his head, terror filling him. That couldn't be possible. She wasn't. NO! A scream of agony left his lips as pain and grief shot through his heart._

And then he groaned as he felt the hard ground under him. It was then that Jace also realized that while the rest of his body lay on cold hard flagstone, his head was resting comfortably. Slowly, he opened his eyes to a see a lit room where it once was dark and there she was—_Clary_—her eyes worried as she peered down at him through a curtain of fiery curls. She was there, alive and whole and just as beautiful as ever. She was still running her fingers gingerly through his hair and along his face. _"Clary,"_ he breathed, a smile on his face as he looked at her ruby ringlets and Idris eyes. And then everything came rushing at him. The Silent City, his father, the Silent Brothers, and the swirling black mass that had terrified him. The black mass that had told him—no, he wouldn't think of that. He would never think of that again. "What are you doing here?" he asked instead.

"I came to find you," she said, her eyes wide with concern. He remembered his dream then. How she had said she would go where he went, and his face twisted slightly before he cut it off. He looked up at her beautifully freckled face and fiery curls. Her emerald orbs narrowed worriedly at him as they scanned him for injuries, and he felt his heart race. His body was coursing with electricity with each brush of her fingers along his skin and through his hair. This—this couldn't be real, could it? Surely he must still be dreaming for her to be holding him like this. She would never hold him like this, and never look at him the way she was looking at him now. Not now. And yet . . . the feel of the hard stone floor beneath him, and the warmth of her legs under his head . . . they seemed so real. He looked up at her again, wishing desperately for it to be so.

"You're really here?" he asked cautiously. "I'm not—I'm not dead, am I?"

"No," she breathed, and his heart jackhammered as she slid her hand gently down the side of his face. "You passed out, is all. Probably hit your head too."

This was real. This was . . . Jace swallowed, feeling the elation that being so close to her brought him. He closed his eyes, memorizing it. Making sure that this moment would be forever etched into every corner of his mind. Her fingers were like satin caressing his face and he reveled in the feel of them. Bringing up his hand, he covered hers and held it to his face, turning slightly toward her palm. She didn't pull away. She allowed it. He could stay here forever. Everything that had happened to him; being kicked out, the Inquisitor, the prison, his father . . . he'd do it all again just to have it end in this moment. It was all totally and completely . . . "Worth it," he breathed, his lips just barely brushing along her skin and muffling his voice.

"What's going on?"

Jace's eyes flew open at the same moment that Clary's hand jerked away—their bubble broken. Alec was walking through the cell—wait, that had been where the cell door had been, hadn't it? It looked like it had been pulled roughly from the wall. Jace shook his head, sure he wasn't seeing things right, and he focused back on Alec. His eyes were narrowed as he looked down at them like he had just caught them in the act of doing something wrong. Jace had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from yelling at him. His brother didn't know and it wouldn't be fair to bite his head off. He _couldn't _know. No one could know the thoughts and feelings he still had for Clary. Sighing, he struggled to sit up as a stab of pain shot across his temple, disorienting him. Suddenly he remembered his father leaving him here—remembered trying desperately to get out after Valentine had refused to unchain him. And then everything had gone dark. Alec kneeled in front of him, his blue eyes full of concern as he looked at him.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his eyes lowering as he took in the blood on Jace's shirt. "What happened? Can you remember?"

Jace, who had been rubbing his aching head tenderly, winced at the barrage of questions and then held up his hand to stop his _parabatai_ from asking anymore. "One question at a time, Alec." he said. "My head already feels like it's going to split open." He peaked an eye at Clary then, who had not moved from where she had been holding him previously.

"Who did this to you?" It was Isabelle now, and Jace looked up at her. She looked pissed—which meant she probably _was_ pissed. To bad he couldn't give her someone to be pissed at besides himself.

"No one did anything to me," he sighed as he raised his damaged hand to examine his bloody wrist. He winced. "I did it to myself trying to get the manacles off."

"Here."

Both Clary and Alec had spoken at the same time, and Jace looked up to see that they both had their hands reaching out expectantly toward him. His brow furrowed, the corner of his mouth ticking upward. They both wanted to heal him? Alec, he wasn't surprised with. Clary, on the other hand . . . did she even have a stele? Jace's eyes flitted between the two of them, but they were too busy looking at one another in a silent showdown to notice his amused expression. It was Clary who dropped her hand first and he felt a slight twinge of disappointment. He knew he shouldn't be as a _parabatai's_ rune was much more powerful than any other Shadowhunters, but the thought of Clary Marking him—the idea of her sitting close and pressing a stele against his skin and . . . he bit the inside of his cheek. Instead, he watched as Alec drew the _iratze. _The relief was instantaneous, and when he finished, Jace breathed a word of thanks and pulled his hand back. And then he cast his eyes at the dead Silent Brother and remembered the screams he had heard—their true voices.

"Brother Jeremiah—"

"Is dead," Clary cut him off, and he looked at her as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. He could point out the obvious . . . that he hadn't thought the Silent Brother was over their resting his non-existing eyes by any means. But in the end, he decided to not go with sarcasm.

"I know," he said instead. Reaching behind him with his uninjured hand, he grabbed the cot and struggled to get to his feet. Alec was there, offering his assistance, but Jace didn't take it. He had already showed enough weakness without admitting that he might need help getting up. It was difficult, but he made it. Once he was standing, he looked back down at Brother Jeremiah. The blood had pooled out around him. And then he thought again about the large black smokey abyss that had shrouded the Silent Brother. What had that been? "He was murdered."

"Did the Silent Brothers kill each other?" Isabelle asked suddenly and Jace raised his brow. _Yeah,_ he thought with heavy sarcasm. _They were playing this game of poker and wouldn't you know it . . . Jeremiah was cheating. One thing led to another and . . ._ Jace shook his head, biting back the words as Izzy continued. "I don't understand—I don't understand why they'd do that—"

"They didn't," Jace cut her off as he thought of the dark, whatever the hell that was. "Something killed them. I don't know what." The more he tried to remember, the more his skull felt like it was being used as a basketball. And then there were some things that he just outright refused to remember. He reached up an massaged his temples. "My head—"

"Maybe we should go," Clary cut in, getting to her feet and looking around. "Before whatever killed them . . ."

"Come back for us?" Jace finished for her when her voice trailed off. He glanced at her and saw that she was absently tugging on her curls, looking nervous. He wished he could pull her against him—calm her fears. Instead, he stayed where he was. Unable to look at her anymore, he looked down at his injured hand. The raw skin around his wrist had already knitted back together leaving a red ring in it's place. And yet it still hurt horribly though it shouldn't. "I think it's gone," he said, not lifting his eyes. "But I suppose he could still bring it back." And then he clamped down on his cheek as he realized what he had said. He hoped they wouldn't catch it, though he wasn't sure why. Was he really going to try to hide the fact that his father had been here? That his father had been responsible? Alec had caught it though. Of course he had.

"Who could bring what back?" he asked, looking at Jace. But Jace didn't answer. He couldn't if he wanted to. A tidal wave of dizziness chose that exact moment to hit him hard and he began to sway where he stood before falling backward. Lucky there was a wall there. And then Alec's hand was gripping his arm, and Jace looked down at it curiously before realizing his knees were giving out and that Alec was keeping him up. "Jace—"

Jace locked his jaw and grabbed at his _parabatai's_ shirt. He had meant to grab his arm, but had a fistful of sleeve instead. His eyesight was blurry at best. "I'm all right," he said through clenched teeth as his head pounded. "I can stand."

Through the haze of his sight, he could see the exasperated smile on Alec's face. "It looks to me like you're using a wall to prop you up. That's not my definition of 'standing.'"

Jace smiled weakly back. "It's leaning," he told him as he laid his head back against the cool stone. "Leaning comes right before standing."

"Stop bickering," Isabelle snapped, and Jace and Alec gave each other covert grins. That was hardly bickering. They said nothing however. "We need to get out of here," she continued. "If there's something out there nasty enough to kill the Silent Brothers, it'll make short work of us."

"Izzy's right," Clary said before Jace could respond. Bending down, she retrieved her lit witchstone—the same one he had given her on her birthday. And then Jace had to clear his mind before he could start to think of that night. "Jace—" Clary said suddenly, and his heart skipped a beat as he looked at her. "Are you okay to walk?"

"He can lean on me," Alec answered for him, pulling his arm across his shoulders as he wrapped his own arm around Jace's waist. Jace was grateful that his brother refused to let him be stubborn and attempt to walk on his own, and he leaned heavily on him. Alec seemed to sense this, and adjusted his weight accordingly. "Come on," he said softly as he looked at Jace with concern. "We'll fix you up when we get outside." As they moved out of the cell, Jace's steps faltered as they passed the contorted body of the the fallen Silent Brother. Alec stopped, but did not loosen his grip on his brother. Again Jace heard the screams rebound in his mind, and he looked down at Brother Jeremiah—not because he wanted to, but because he _had_ to. His father had killed them. He had told him as much. Had killed them all for the Soul-Sword. He said none of this though. He only watched as Izzy bent down and covered the terrified face of Jeremiah with his hood. A face that was frozen into eternity. Jace bit the inside of his cheek as a frown tugged at his lips. Next to him, Alec sucked in his breath.

"I've never seen a Silent Brother afraid," he said quietly. "I didn't think it was possible for them to feel fear."

The screams would haunt him. Jace knew that now. Absently, he brought his injured hand to his chest and leaned into Alec. The screams of the Silent Brothers—the screams his father had brought. And then he remembered his own fear after the words the demon had whispered. The terror he had felt. He could not remember ever being that terrified—unnaturally so. _Stop thinking of it! _He refused to ever think of those forsaken words again. She was here. She was alive. Jace could feel his face draining of color. "Everyone feels fear," he whispered.

He could feel Clary's gaze on him, but he ignored it as he turned away from Brother Jeremiah. Alec's grip tightened around his waist as he led him away. They said nothing as they moved through the prison. Jace shivered involuntarily as they made their way up the steps that the black abyss had pushed himself out of. His head felt foggy, his body aching. As they reached the top of the steps, Jace found himself in the pavilion of the Speaking Stars. But it was different now. Gruesome. Blood painted the walls and floors and the fallen Silent Brothers were letting off a smoky scent that burnt his nose. He had to bite the inside of his cheek as he looked at the carnage before him. His father had done this. His father was responsible. The far wall, which was no different than any other, also had blood splatter on it—but there was something else. A Silent Brother lay with a seraph blade protruding from his chest. How had his father managed this without the Silent Brothers stopping him? They were capable of breaking a mind—and yet—his father had slaughtered them all.

"Jace. Don't look," Clary said suddenly, stepping forward. Jace looked at her briefly. He wanted to find the humor in her words. He wanted to tell her that this was the kind of thing he dealt with on a daily basis as a Shadowhunter. But he couldn't. Because _this_ was not something that had ever happened to him. It was not something that had ever happened to anyone. And he couldn't shake the feeling of dread that coursed through him now as his head began to pound painfully. He shook it—which did nothing to help the stabbing in his skull—as he fought to keep from showing them his pain. But maybe he should tell them. Maybe he should, just once, ask for help by admitting his fear.

"Something feels wrong—"

"Everything feels wrong here," Alec cut him off, not understanding his meaning. Jace didn't correct him, and instead chose to fall silent. Alec jerked his chin toward one of the archways on the other side of the the one they had come through. "That's the fastest way out of here. Let's go."

Jace didn't argue as they moved forward through the horrific scene. They were careful to avoid stepping in blood or over any Silent Brother that lay on the ground. Jace also let Alec support a lot of his weight . . . though it was not by choice. He felt inexplicably weak, despite the _iratze _he had received. Something really was wrong with him, but what? He couldn't explain it. The fear he had felt down in the prisons had shaken him to his core, but it was like even now, there was some sort of lasting effect. Something that was restricting his heart. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming out, and this terrified him. Why on earth would he want to scream out now? Now, when he was with his family—safe. Ahead of him, Clary was watching Isabelle, who was speaking a latin prayer as they walked. It was a prayer for the dead. As they reached the stairs that led out, Jace heard Clary let out a breath as she began climbing. His eyes were heavy, but he managed to focus on her retreating form. He wished he could hold her. To push back her hair and run a finger along her cheek. He looked at Alec's blurry profile and wondered idly if any of this was even real. One way to find out. Reaching up with his injured hand, he poked Alec's cheek. Alec jerked his face away, looking at Jace in bewilderment.

"Ow." he said pointedly with irritation.

Why on earth had he done that? Jace wondered. He wasn't making sense to himself. All the same he shrugged. "Just checking," he muttered, his voice thick. Alec stared at him with concern but said nothing before repositioning his grip on Jace and making his way up the steps. Jace noticed that Alec had his phone out and was texting quickly. He wondered who he could possibly be trying to get ahold of at this hour, but he didn't ask. He was too exhausted and dizzy. At the top steps, the girls had stopped and were looking at each other. Jace could see the glow that outlined them and then was bathed in it himself as they came to a stop behind them. The light was bright—as bright as daylight—but Jace knew better. He wondered who was out there. How many. Isabelle turned to look at him and Alec.

"The sun couldn't have risen yet—could it?" She asked. "How long were we down there?"

"Not that long," Alec said, looking down at his watch.

"Witchlight," Jace mumbled, and everyone looked at him in confusion. Really? They couldn't tell? He was dizzy as shit and half asleep, and _he _could tell.

"What did you say?" Alec asked, looking down at him. Down? He knew he was shorter than Alec, but not _this_ much shorter. Maybe an inch or two was all. And then he realized that with as heavily as he was leaning on his brother, he had dipped below his head.

He cursed himself silently for having to rely so much on him before saying loudly, "Witchlight."

At his word, Isabelle ran forward and Clary called after her before following. Alec looked down at his phone and nodded before moving forward with Jace. Jace nearly asked who he had contacted but the question died in his throat as he looked at the scene in front of him. Though distorted—like looking through a fishbowl—he could make out the Shadowhunters who stood their staring at them. They had their witchlight rune stones held high. And Maryse—Maryse led the group. This was the second time tonight he had seen someone he had once considered a parent dressed in Shadowhunter gear. And then he realized she was looking directly at him, and then Alec who still had one arm around him. Biting the inside of his cheek, Jace dislodged himself from his brother and stepped back and away from him and the others just as someone—Malik, Jace realized—spoke.

"By the Angel," Malik breathed, looking at them all. "Maryse—there was already someone down there."

"Maryse's mouth turned into a hard thin line. "I know, Malik," she said stiffly. "These are my children." At her words, a ripple went through the crowd behind her. Gasps and whispers followed. Jace shoved his hands in his pockets as he took in the group in front of him. He knew many of them, though not well. Malik, he knew from when he was first sent to New York. "By the Angel," Maryse breathed with disbelief as he eyes swept over all of them before resting on Iz. Jace tried desperately to focus on what was going on as yet another dizzy spell hit him. He closed his eyes, and then opened them when it passed. "What are you doing here, Alec? Isabelle?" Maryse demanded. "There was a distress call from the Silent City—"

"We answered it," Alec cut her off, and Jace saw he was turning his phone nervously in his hands. Why did he have his phone? Had he tried to contact someone? Jace couldn't remember, and he frowned. "You weren't at the Institute," Alec continued, "and we couldn't raise anyone—so we came ourselves."

Maryse breathed heavily out of her nose. "Alec—"

"It doesn't matter, anyway," Alec said. "They're dead. The Silent Brothers. They're all dead. They've been murdered."

Jace felt his heart plummet at Alec's words, fear rippling along his skin. Why couldn't he shake that? It was unnecessary, and yet . . . it continued to taunt him. Again, he tried to ignore it as he focused on the crowd around him. You could hear a pin drop. As Jace scanned the Shadowhunters, his eyes fell on a swath of gray robes. He sighed as sharp angry eyes met his, a cruel sneer on her face. But neither said a word as they glared at one another. It was a while before anyone spoke. It was Maryse who finally broke the silence.

"_Dead?"_ she said, repeating her son. "What do you mean, they're dead?"

"I think it's quite clear what he means," the Inquisitor said suddenly, pulling her hateful eyes away from Jace's and moving forward. He found it amusing as heads snapped to her like a released rubber band. She was holding up her own witchlight as well, though her's was attached to a chain. Jace supposed it would be un-Shadowhunter-like of him to hope that the next time she put it around her neck, she might accidentally choke on it. She cast her spiteful eyes to Alec. "They are all dead?" She asked him. "You found no one alive?"

"Not that we saw, Inquisitor," Alec said, shaking his head. From his peripheral, Jace saw a blurry Clary cock her head slightly.

"That you _saw_," the Inquisitor repeated, her eyes hard as she turned to Maryse. "There may yet be survivors. I would send your people into the City for a thorough check."

Jace saw Maryse draw her shoulders back, her already thin lips becoming nearly nonexistent. Like him, she hated being bossed around, and Jace almost smiled. Almost. "Very well." She said nothing else as she turned to address the other Shadowhunters and then watched as Malik led many of the others toward the entrance. In his blurry haze, he wasn't sure, but he thought one of them—a silver haired Shadowhunter—was looking at Clary. He was probably wrong. One by one, the Shadowhunters and their witch-stones disappeared down the flight of stairs, leaving behind only darkness. The only ones that remained now were them, Maryse, and the Inquisitor—who was staring daggers at him. He wondered what she would do if he grinned back at her. He hated her and he wanted to make her angry, though he knew he shouldn't. Knew that that was why he had ended up here in the first place. But just looking at her, he could feel his fury began to bubble. After several minutes of silence, Maryse turned to look at them all. "Why would anyone murder the Silent Brothers?" She asked. "They're not warriors, they don't carry battle Marks—"

"Don't be naive, Maryse," the Inquisitor snapped, and Maryse's eyes flashed. "This was no random attack. The Silent Brothers may not be warriors, but they are primarily guardians, and very good at their jobs. Not to mention hard to kill. Someone wanted something from the Bone City and was willing to kill the Silent Brothers to get it. This was premeditated." Jace glared at the Inquisitor. He hated her, but even he had to grudgingly admit that she was right.

Maryse, on the other hand, looked unconvinced. "What makes you so sure?"

The Inquisitor rounded on Maryse, her brow raised as if she thought she had just been asked the stupidest of questions. "The wild goose chase that called us all out to Central Park? The dead fey child?"

Jace's brows raised as he looked at the two women. Had he heard that correctly? Were downworlders really just popping up dead all over the place? Maryse's expression matched that of the Inquisitor's as she glowered back at her. "I wouldn't call that a wild goose chase. The fey child was drained of blood, like the warlock. These killings could cause serious trouble between the Night Children and other Downworlders—"

"Distractions," the Inquisitor insisted, cutting her off. "He wanted us gone from the Institute so that no one would respond to the Brothers when they called for aid. Ingenious, really. But then he always was ingenious." And Jace, knowing exactly who she was talking about, was surprised to hear any form of compliment come out of her mouth when directed at his father. If _he _had tried to compliment his father, he was sure she would sentence him to more time in the prison. Everyone else seemed confused, however.

"He?" Izzy asked, her brows furrowed as she ran her fingers through her raven hair. "You mean—"

Jace sighed, knowing that he couldn't hide it any longer. "Valentine." He still wasn't sure why he hadn't wanted to tell anyone. And now that the word left his mouth—now that the ripple of shock coursed through those around him, he started to realize why. He shook his head. "Valentine took the Mortal Sword. That's why he killed the Silent Brothers."

The Inquisitor grinned viciously, and Jace had to bite down the disgust at helping her confirm her thoughts. Alec rounded on him, his eyes wide. "_Valentine?"_ Alec sputtered. "But you didn't say he was here."

Jace thought back to the hallway in the Institute. It had been right before he had met the hateful woman that they called the Inquisitor, that Alec had told him that it seemed like he was hiding things. That keeping the information about Hodge was just what the Clave was going to be looking at. _No_, Jace thought now with irritation. It didn't matter how much he kept hidden, or how much of the truth he told. The Clave was only going to look at one thing—that he was Valentine's son. "Nobody asked," he said stubbornly as he met the cruel eyes of the Inquisitor.

But Alec was shaking his head. "He couldn't have killed the Brothers," he said. "They were torn _apart._ No one person could have done that."

The Inquisitor turned annoyed eyes on him. "He probably had demonic help," she said pointedly. "He's used demons to aid him before. And with the protection of the Cup on him, he could summon some very dangerous creatures. More dangerous than Raveners," she added and Jace felt his stomach drop as she turned to glare at Clary. He took a step forward to shield her from the hateful stare, but had to stop when a brick wall of dizziness slammed into him. He took a steadying breath to keep himself upright, nausea bubbling in his stomach. And yet, all he could think was that if he was going to vomit, he hoped it projectiled far enough to hit the stupid Inquisitor. He also took pleasure in seeing that Clary was glaring back at the woman defiantly. "Or the pathetic Forsaken," The Inquisitor said as an afterthought, though Jace knew it was anything but. She knew who Clary was, but Jace was not about to let her be as cruel to her as she was to him. Before she could say more, Jace cleared his throat.

"I don't know about that," he said. The Inquisitor's eyes moved his. "But it was Valentine. I saw him. In fact, he had the Sword with him when he came down to the cells and taunted me through the bars. It was like a bad movie, except he didn't actually twirl his mustache." He thought he felt himself swaying and tried to stop it. Was it possible to be both hot and cold at the same time?

The Inquisitor moved toward him, but she was getting blurrier with each step. "So you're saying that Valentine _told_ you all this?" she asked silkily. "He told you he killed the Silent Brothers because he wanted the Angel's Sword?"

"What else did he tell you?" Jace had to blink as he looked up. It was Maryse who had spoken this time, but he couldn't see her. He did his best not to let it show. He bit the inside of his cheek, keeping his face straight so that no one would see the weakened state he was in. Instead he looked to her general direction, his head slamming painfully as she continued. "Did he tell you were he was going? What he plans to do with the two Mortal Instruments?"

Jace shook his head and immediately regretted it as people began to spin around him. What the hell was wrong with him? And then the Inquisitor was in front of him, her face distorting as his sight swayed. All the same, he could see the sneer on her face and the malice in her eyes. "I don't believe you."

Jace continued to look at her, not showing emotion—not showing pain—he gave away nothing to this woman. "I didn't think you would."

"I doubt the Clave will believe you either," she continued icily.

But it was Alec who retorted. "Jace isn't a liar—"

"Use you're brain, Alexander," the Inquisitor cut him off, though Jace could tell she was still looking at him with hateful eyes. He wondered idly what she would do if he poked her face like he had poked Alec's. His finger twitched, but he didn't dare. "Leave aside your loyalty to your friend for a moment," The Inquisitor continued, and even Jace could hear the false sympathy in her voice. It made him sick. "What's the likelihood that Valentine stopped by his son's cell for a paternal chat about the Soul-Sword, and didn't mention what he planned to do with it, or even where he was going?"

Alec squared his shoulders, his hand crushing his phone, but it was Jace who spoke as he looked at the Inquisitor. _"S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse," _he said quietly. The Inquisitor's brow ticked upward, but he continued before she could say anything. _"a persona che mai tornasse al mondo . . ."_

"Dante—the _Inferno,_" the Inquisitor smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. And then she cocked her head. "You are not in hell yet, Jonathan Morgenstern, though if you insist on lying to the Clave, you'll wish you were." And then she whirled on the others, her arms wide. "And doesn't it seem odd to anyone that the Soul-Sword should disappear the night before Jonathan Morgenstern is supposed to stand trial by it's blade—and that his father is the one who took it?"

Jace's mouth dropped open. No. She was wrong. That wasn't why his father had taken the sword . . . was it? To stop it from being used on him? But he had been telling the truth all along—obviously that couldn't be the reason. No, if anything, his father taking the Sword had created _more_ of a problem for Jace—not less. Not that he knew or cared, he thought bitterly. "My father didn't take the Sword for _me._ He took it for _him._ I doubt he even knew about the trial," he added.

"How awfully convenient for you, regardless," The Inquisitor hissed like a cobra. But Jace disagreed. Nope, it wasn't convenient at all actually. "And for him," she continued. "He won't have to worry about you spilling his secrets."

"Yeah," Jace nodded in agreement, unable to stop himself, "he's terrified I'll tell everyone that he's always really wanted to be a ballerina." A slow groan came somewhere from his right, but he ignored it as he and the Inquisitor glared at one another. And then he let out a breath. It was getting harder and harder to stand upright. "I don't _know_ any of my father's secrets. He never told me anything."

But the Inquisitor was a stubborn cow. "If your father didn't take the Sword to protect you, then why _did_ he take it?" Jace stared at her. He had already told her he didn't know, and now here they were; back where they started. It was Clary who spoke.

"It's a Mortal Instrument," she said irritably as she stepped toward Jace and the Inquisitor. He watched her, unable to read the expression on her face. "It's powerful. Like the Cup. Valentine likes power."

Even through the blurry haze of his eyesight, he could see the death stare the Inquisitor was giving Clary and a protective surge ran through him. She was right though—which is probably why the Inquisitor was irritated. "The Cup has an immediate use," the Inquisitor said, her voice like stretched wire. "He can use it to make an army. The Sword is used in trials. I can't see how that would interest him."

"He might have done it to destabilize the Clave," Maryse said, much to Jace's surprise. Wasn't she supposed to be against him? "To sap our morale. To say that there is nothing we can protect from him if he wants it badly enough." Jace could see her blurred outline staring in their direction. Or no . . . maybe that was Izzy. They sure did look alike. He turned his head to look at Clary, and saw Alec's dark outline instead. Wait—hadn't he been on Jace's right? He shook his head. They needed to stop moving on him. It was getting confusing. And then a massive tidal wave of vertigo hit him and he stumbled just as someone said something. He wasn't sure who. Whatever was said though, he was sure he couldn't have heard it right. He put his hand up, wanting to ask what was said—to confirm that he had heard incorrectly. But the vertigo was too strong. The whole world was spinning and he was going to fall. He didn't want to fall—didn't want to show the Inquisitor weakness. But he knew he was going to go down one way or another. He bit the inside of his cheek—nope, that was his tongue—and made to sit down before he fell. His ass hit the cold hard ground with a thump and he could hear the gasps of those around him. And then Alec was in front of him, the edges of his face blurry. He could see the concern in his _parabatai's _eyes, but Jace didn't want it. He waved him away irritably.

"Leave me alone," he mumbled and could hear the thickness of his voice. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine." He looked up as he saw movement behind Alec. He could just make out the red curls, and then Clary was kneeling in front of him as well. Just like Alec, the edges of her face was blurry as she moved into his line of vision, but he tried harder to focus on her. Doing so was like a jackhammer to the head, though, and he had to stop—allowing the blurred edges to return to her beautiful face instead. He wasn't going to argue with her. He couldn't. And he couldn't lie to her. And then her and Alec were looking at each other. "Something's wrong with him," she said as if Jace wasn't right there listening. "Something serious."

_No, it's nothing. I'm just tired. _It was a second before he realized that he had not said it out loud as he had intended. He frowned, his body shivering as another wave of dizziness hit him, but this time it brought fear with it. Jace's heart pounded as he closed his eyes, waiting for to pass. Praying it did. He couldn't understand why he was scared. He wasn't afraid of the Inquisitor, so that couldn't be it. And Clary was here with him, alive. This terror was different. It came and went. Placing his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, he tried to catch his breath. He could feel a small warm hand on his back as he pressed his palms into his eyes. And then on his neck. They made his skin ripple with electricity and his heart quicken. He tried to focus on the petite hand that was massaging his back gently instead of those around him talking. Tried to ignore the waves of nausea that were rolling over him. It wasn't until he tried to open his eyes that he was rocked back. The world had become a ferris wheel. He closed his eyes and laid back in the cool grass. His breathing was hitched and painful as he tried to drag in air. Was Alec yelling now? Alec didn't yell—well, Alec didn't yell at authority. That's not what he did. Small hands were on his face now, and he could smell the lavender as they caressed his cheek and then neck before resting on his chest. He tried to make sense of it, but he couldn't. He couldn't make sense of anything.

They continued to talk and Jace continued to not understand a word that was being said. He wasn't even sure that he was awake anymore. All he was aware of now was the quiet murmurs and the warm hand on his chest. It slowly went to his neck, two fingers pressing down on his carotid artery and then a sigh of relief. _Why? Am I dead?_ he wondered. _Well, no dumbass . . . if I were dead, I wouldn't be able to wonder if I was dead._ The warm hand brushed up his neck, across his cheek, and then into his hair, pushing back strands off his forehead. He tried to focus on that but each sweep sent him into a spiraling vortex of vertigo. He bit down on it though, refusing to ask that petite hand to stop. And then Alec was yelling again. He really wished that Alec would stop yelling. And then he did, and Jace was grateful—wait, had someone just offered to kick him? There was another voice, a new voice—familiar—but Jace couldn't make it out. He couldn't make out anything right now. Every time he tried, he was slapped back down. Instead, he just focused on the petite hand and the name it belonged to. _Clary._ He said it over and over in his mind. Slowly, incredibly slowly, the dizziness began to ebb away. Replacing it was an exhaustion that ran so deep he could feel it in his bones. And then he heard the new voice again and felt as Clary's hand left his hair. Slowly, he opened his eyes to see Magnus standing over him. He was wearing the same leather pants he had worn when Jace had gone to his house about he red thread—and they still left nothing to the imagination. He also wore a buckle with a large jeweled M, and a jacket over a white lace shirt. He nearly laughed at what the Inquisitor must think of the warlock, but was too weak to do so. Instead he asked, "What are you doing here?"

Clary wrapped her fingers gently around Jace's arm at the same moment that Magnus grinned as wide as the Cheshire cat. "Hey, roommate." It was all the warlock said, and as Jace turned his gaze to Clary, he knew that it was all that needed to be said. Jace closed his eyes again and allowed a groan to leave his lips.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong> Yay, back in Jace's POV! Anyhoo, I hope you all like it. As always, thank you for reading and please review to let me know what you think! _


	8. The Filthy Warlock

**~Chapter Seven~**

**The Filthy Warlock **

**Seriously, Has He Never Heard of a Broom? **

"Is it bad?"

"I don't—"

"Be honest, you can tell me."

"Hold still!"

"Ow!"

"I told you to hold still."

Jace held still, though he was sure to give Magnus as much of a death glare as he could. He was still dizzy, though it wasn't as bad as it had been. And his eyesight was getting better. His head still pounded as well, but it had gone from a jackhammer to just a hammer—so there was that. He still wasn't sure what was wrong with him, though. After arriving back at Magnus's, the warlock had accosted him. Jace knew that he was trying to help him, but he was impatient. He hated feeling weak. The warlock pressed his fingers against Jace's head again, his eyes closed. Jace crossed his arms and sighed overly loud.

"Any day now," he said.

Magnus peaked an eye open at him. "If you don't stop, so help me by the time I'm done you're going to think you're a cat."

Jace looked up at him, his eyes wide with horror. "You wouldn't do that, would you?"

"I'll make you a bed next to Chairman Meow's." Magnus said gleefully.

Jace shut his mouth. It hadn't been that long since he and arrived back to Magnus's loft. Before leaving the Silent City, Magnus had had to sign a contract with the Inquisitor stipulating Jace's imprisonment. And then Jace had had to say goodbye to Clary. He was sad to see her leave. She had wanted to join him, but the Inquisitor had stomped out that idea immediately—looking quite gleeful as she did so. Jace had thought of a kid holding a magnifying glass on an ant hill in that moment. Isabelle had been denied permission to go as well. Alec, on the other hand, had stated that as his _parabatai _he had a right to go_—_not that the Inquisitor had cared. To his surprise it was Maryse who had pointed out that as Alec was in no kind of trouble, to deny him the right to see or be with his _parabatai_ was to punish him when he had done nothing wrong. Which was against Clave Law. After that, the Inquisitor had grudgingly agreed to let him come. Alec was now standing in a corner watching as Magnus assaulted Jace, and he wasn't lifting a single finger to stop the warlock. Okay, maybe assaulting was a bit of a stretch, but all the same . . . if his brother could look less amused, that'd be great. The loft itself looked like the warlock had had another party, but when Jace made a comment about the audacity of not being invited, Magnus had ignored him and shoved him into a large overstuffed chair.

A spark of pain shot through Jace's head, but he was careful not to move this time—though he _was_ sure to sigh overloud again. It was a few more minutes before the warlock stepped away, and when he did Jace was relieved to find that his head no longer hurt. He wasn't dizzy anymore, either, and his eyesight was no longer blurry. Jace rubbed his temples curiously. "Thanks," he said looking up at Magnus. "So what was it? Why was I . . ." his voice trailed off as Magnus turned away and shrugged out of his jacket. He walked toward Alec and draped it over a chair there. Jace noticed that Alec looked slightly uncomfortable as he looked from the warlock to him. When Magnus turned back around, he looked grave and Jace swallowed nervously. "What is it? Were you able to—"

The warlock put up a hand to stop him. "You suffer," Magnus began, and Jace didn't like how he had said that as present tense instead of past. His heart began to pound as Magnus sighed. "From what the mundanes like to call, a concussion. And actually, you suffered." Magnus smiled now. Jace knew what a concussion was, but shouldn't the _iratze _have healed it? He was about to ask when he saw the almost imperceptible shake of Magnus's head, and Jace closed his mouth. The smile never left the warlocks lips as he turned to Alec like nothing ever happened. "Alexander? Do you plan to stay the night?" He asked. And again Jace saw his _parabatai_ shift uncomfortably. "_Not—" _he continued, oblivious of Alec's discomfort. "—that it's actually night anymore, but very early in the morning."

"Um, yeah," Alec said looking from Jace to Magnus and then back to Jace as if thoroughly confused as he ran his fingers through his dark hair. Jace raised a brow. Magnus grinned wider.

"Very well." Magnus said turning. "The first door on the right should suffice you both."

"Both of us?" Alec asked a little too quickly. Jace however said nothing. He only felt exhaustion now. Magnus's raised a perfectly sculpted brow, an amused sort of expression on his face.

"Well," he said slowly. "I assumed that as your here for your _parabatai,_ you would wish to be with him?"

And now Alec just looked annoyed. Jace narrowed his eyes, pushing back the exhaustion to watch his brother and the warlock a little more closely. He had a feeling he was missing something. Some undercurrent. Alec, however said nothing. Merely nodded and then stepped forward to help Jace to his feet. The room that Magnus had mentioned ended up being a large den that instantly met Jace's preference. The velvet curtains—one of the only splashes of color in the otherwise beige and cream colored room—covered the windows. the other splash of color came from the hot pink couch that had been made into a bed. There was another couch, large and overstuffed, that had been made into a bed as well. Jace took the pink couch. Once he was lying comfortably, Alec mentioned that he wasn't tired and would go to sleep later.

"Well, what are you going to do then?" Jace asked, looking up at Alec from the couch.

Alec shrugged. "You'll need clothes, I expect. Maybe I'll run to the Institute and get you some." Jace was too tired to argue. He merely shrugged and then watched as Alec left the room. The moment the door was shut behind him, Jace jumped to his feet and crossed to the door. On the other side of it, he could here Magnus exclaim in surprise and then there was silence. Jace frowned. He was definitely missing something. Jace went back to bed.

When he woke, he wasn't sure what time it was. The couch across from him was unused, however, and as he sat up he kicked a small duffle bag full of clothes. Jace rubbed at his face and could feel the stubble on his chin. He sighed and stretched. He was sore, but he felt better. His head was completely clear now. Leaning forward, he opened the bag and smiled. Everything was neatly arranged, and he wondered how much time it took Alec to meticulously place everything to Jace's liking. In a side pocket he found a razor, toothbrush, toothpaste, and at the very bottom, hidden, his stele. Grabbing up everything he needed, he left the room in search for a bathroom. It wasn't difficult to find. Pushing open the door, he frowned. Magnus was worse than Isabelle. Makeup, clothes, and shit that Jace couldn't even began to name were flung everywhere. Jace sighed and picked his way through it and then set his own stuff in a heap on the counter. Slowly, he started kicking the clothes into a pile until the the floor was clear. He used his stele to remove the towel from the rack, afraid to touch it himself. In a set of built in cabinets he found a clean towel and folded it neatly before replacing the other towel with it. On the counter, he tried his best to arrange the makeup, creams, lotions, gels, and what in the fuck was this? Jace looked at the bottle of . . . was it ointment? He didn't think he had ever heard of K-Y before. Turning it over he read the back curiously.

"Oh!" He flung the bottle away from him with disgust, where it bounced on the counter. "Ew, ew, ew . . ." he flipped on the water to scalding and began vigorously scrubbing his hands. When he was done, he opened one of the drawers and then used his stele to guide the bottle into it, then slammed it shut and washed his stele for good measure. He was very careful with everything else he touched after that. Once the bathroom was clean—or as clean as he could get it—he straightened his stuff out and looked at himself in the mirror. His wrist was still bright red and sore, and he saw a few bruises on his chest but he was otherwise uninjured. Sighing, Jace grabbed his shaving cream and went to work. Once he was done, he took a quick shower, dressed in jeans and a white long sleeve shirt that he pushed up to his elbows. He put his stuff away. Upon leaving his room again, he smelled coffee brewing and followed the aroma. A small kitchen was set off into the corner of the apartment, and Magnus was there in a long green silk robe, maybe satin—Jace wasn't all that great with being able to tell—a silver mesh shirt, and black jeans.

"Good afternoon, roomie." Magnus said seeing him. "Coffee?"

"Afternoon?" "Jace asked.

"Yep," Magnus nodded, taking a sip from his mug. "But as we all got to bed a bit late, you're not really surprised are you?"

Jace shook his head as he made his way around the counter that separated the kitchen. "Your bathroom is disgusting. And don't even get me started on the shit you have in there. I may need to take another shower."

"Well then feel free to hose yourself off outback," Magnus grinned.

"No need. I cleaned it." Jace said searching for a coffee cup.

"You did what?" And then before he could respond, Magnus swept past him, his green robe billowing out behind him, and headed down the hall. Jace shrugged and continued his search. He found what he was looking for in the fourth cabinet he opened. When he turned around, Magnus was standing there glowering.

Jace just smiled and began to fill his cup. "You're welcome."

"If you're going to be staying here, I think there's a few things we need to discuss," Magnus said slowly.

"Yeah," Jace nodded in agreement as he took a drink of the black coffee. "Like the fact that you're worse than Isabelle? And trust me, that's saying something." He could tell instantly that the beverage was expensive. He wouldn't be surprised if Magnus had conjured it from it's very source of origin. "This is good," he continued, holding up his cup. "Where'd you get it?"

Magnus ignored the question. "I like things a certain way here."

"I didn't ask to be here," Jace reminded him, taking another drink. "Damn, this is _really _good. Anyway," he continued, seeing the warlock looking irritated. "As a guest, I would think—"

"You are _not_ a guest," Magnus pointed out. "You're staying here because the Silent City is currently unable to hold you."

"You mean _can't_ hold me," Jace corrected. "Being dead makes it really difficult to watch prisoners after all."

"If you wish to be crude about it, then yes." Magnus shrugged. "All the same, _leave my stuff alone!"_

Jace lifted a brow, but said nothing. He took another drink of the delicious coffee. He had mentioned the Silent Brothers death callously, but he had been anything but. He had woken several times last night to the sound of their screaming, and even now he could see the horror of the Speaking Stars clearly in his mind. His father had killed them all for a sword. But not just any sword—Maellartach. The Soul-Sword. One of the three Mortal Instruments the Angel Raziel had given the very first Shadowhunters. What did his father plan to do with it, he wondered. His father would tell him. He had said as much. He just wanted to know that he could trust Jace first. Jace closed his eyes, biting down on the inside of his cheek. He would never admit it—not out loud—but he wanted his father to trust him. The only thing he wasn't sure of, was whether it was because he wanted to know what Valentine was up to so he could stop him, or if it was because he just wanted his father back.

"Does it hurt?"

Jace opened his eyes to see Magnus staring at him. What was he talking about? The warlock rolled his eyes and reached forward with lightning quickness and took Jace's arm. It was then that he realized that he had set down his coffee and had been rubbing his raw wrist. Jace shrugged as an answer. Sure, it hurt but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. In fact, he should have used his stele to heal it. He's not sure why he hadn't. Slowly, Magnus ran a finger around his wrist leaving a trail of purplish-silver cream on his skin. It completely covered the raw redness. Taking back his hand, Jace looked speculatively at his wrist and then shrugged. It was feeling better already. He wondered what the warlock had used, but then remembering the K-Y, he decided it was better not to ask. Jace looked around the apartment speculatively before turning and taking his dirty cup to the sink, where he rinsed it out. He then began rinsing other dishes that had been thrown in the sink. Then he was washing them.

"Enough!" Magnus yelled from behind him, and the faucet suddenly sputtered out and died. Jace turned to stare at the warlock with a look of exasperation.

"I knew it," he said grumpily. "The Inquisitor sent me here to live out my days in filth—which, admittedly, is almost worse than ducks."

Magnus, who had been about to retort, looked dumbfounded now. "Ducks?"

"Ducks," Jace said solemnly. "Foul, self-righteous creatures. Never trust a duck."

"What do ducks have to do with my apartment?"

"They don't. Why would they?"

"Because you mentioned them in reference to my—" Magnus closed his eyes and took a breath. "You know what? I don't care. I don't want to know and I never asked. But what I _do_ want, is for you to _leave my stuff alone_."

Jace leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms as he looked at the warlock. Why had the he allowed him to stay here? It was obvious to Jace that Magnus was less than fond of him. So why would he offer to allow him to stay here? He looked out at the rest of the apartment, which looked as it did last night. He didn't bother to comment on it this time. The warlock watched him carefully, his expression giving away nothing and Jace wondered how old he was. He looked like he was maybe early twenties, but that was because the immortal stopped aging at some point. He could see a wisdom in the warlocks cat-like eyes that one who was really in their twenties could not possibly have. He didn't ask though.

"Are we having a showdown?" Jace asked instead.

"A showdown?" Magnus asked perplexed.

"Oh, you know," Jace smiled. "That moment between two people when they both have to stand their ground to determine whose right?"

"No," Magnus said. "There is no 'showdown', because I'm right. And if you insist on continuing to clean, then I will turn you into a slug."

Jace frowned. "That would be terrible. I'm much to attractive to be turned into something slimy."

"Then stop, and you can keep your abs of steel." Magnus said dryly, but Jace only grinned.

"I knew you were looking at my abs," He said cheekily.

"I've seen better." Magnus retorted, taking a drink of his coffee.

"Better than _my_ abs?" he said in an injured tone and disbelief. "I dare you to show me a man with abs as _magnificent_ as mine!" Jace pulled up his shirt and poked at his stomach. "Look at these. Look at how they're cut perfectly." Magnus, however only rolled his eyes and smiled mysteriously as he took another drink of his coffee. Jace dropped his shirt back down then, and looked around; a true frown tugging on his lips. In all seriousness, he had not expected to wake up alone in his new room. He had also not expected to have to deal with the warlock on his own on the very first day. "Where is Alec, anyway?" He asked out loud, and Magnus choked on his coffee. Jace raised a brow, his eyes narrowing. "What's going on between you two?"

Magnus raised his head slowly, his eyes blank as he set his mug on the counter separating them. "I don't know what you mean."

"Yeah you do," Jace countered. "You know exactly what—"

"I'm surprised," Magnus cut him off, "that you haven't asked me about what was wrong with you last night."

Jace bit the inside of his cheek. He knew the warlock was trying to distract him and was irritated that it worked. "You said it was a concussion."

"Yes, but you and I both know there was something else." Magnus said. "I could see last night that you were about to ask, but you didn't"

Jace remembered that too. But the warlock had shook his head at him as if he knew. "You told me not to ask—or at least, that's what I gathered from your head shake."

"Yes," Magnus smiled. "I figured you were the type that didn't like it when people knew you were scared—though it might do you good to let people know every once in awhile."

Jace said nothing. He _had _tried to tell them. Had been so close. The words had even started to leave his mouth. And yet, Alec had mistaken them for something else and he had not been able to bring himself to correct him. Instead he said, "So what was it?"

Magnus looked at him as if deciding something. "You really did have a concussion," he began. "But there was also something else . . . a seeded thought . . . something meant to scare you. And 'scare' is putting it mildly." Jace knew this was true. He had been beyond scared. He had been terrified.

"But what was it?" Jace asked.

Magnus shook his head and shrugged. "There are many demons in this world and I would be lying if I said I knew all of their abilities. Whatever demon your father—" Jace flinched at the word. "—had with him, however, it was a powerful one to leave such a lasting effect." And then the warlock took a drink of his coffee and pondered for a moment. "In fact, there has only been one other that I know of that had a lasting effect left on him by a demon like that; granted . . . it hadn't really been the demon that had cursed him, so much as his own mind." Magnus wore a curious smile now. "In fact, it was quite similar. Just as had been done to him, the demon played on your fears."

"But it's gone now?" Jace asked.

"Your fear? No." Magnus replied. "Whatever your deepest fear is, will probably always be your deepest fear. I simply removed it from the forefront of your thoughts. Are you scared anymore?" Jace thought about this. He tried to recall the terror he felt, the waves of horror though he refused to think of what had originally caused them. Nope, he felt like himself again. He shook his head. The warlock smiled. "Then it's gone."

Jace bit the inside of his cheek. He knew that the fear he had felt had seemed unnatural. But it had also seemed so real. "Thanks," he said stiffly. Magnus nodded, and then they were both silent for a minute, lost in their own thoughts. Jace thought about his father and the Sword. _I wish I knew what he was doing with it, _Jace thought. Why his father wanted it.

"So would I," Magnus said, and Jace blinked up at the warlock. He hadn't realized he had said it out loud. But now that it _was _out there . . .

"Any ideas?" he asked, but Magnus kept his face blank as he looked at Jace. He was either deep in thought or he was not going to answer. It took some time before the warlock replied, and when he did it was with caution.

"I have thought of a few, but I am not sure I will go into them just now." Magnus's eye looked haunted. "After the death of the Downworlders, I have been watching for Valentine. But it is not easy without something of his. That is, unless, you think you could help in that department."

Jace looked down at his ring. Hadn't this been given to him by his father? Their family ring. The ring he had always thought was a W, but ended up being an M. He turned it once. It was his tie to Valentine. To his father. He wasn't sure he was able to give it up, but he didn't necessarily want to keep it either. Slowly he slipped it off his finger and gave it to the warlock. "Here," he said keeping his face carefully void of emotions as he dropped it into Magnus' hand with forced indifference. "This should help."

Magnus looked down at the ring studiously. The stars shining as they caught the reflective light with each turn. He nodded. "Yes, I do believe it will." And then he looked up at Jace. "I will keep you informed of anything I might find." Jace nodded but said nothing as they both lapsed back into a silence. But this time it was awkward. He felt like he had shown the warlock a personal side of him when he had given him his father's ring, and he didn't like the vulnerable feeling it left him in. He cast around for something to say. Anything. He watched Magnus as he continued to look down at the ring and then he slipped it into a pocket and looked up at Jace. His brow lifted, but he said nothing.

It was Jace who spoke first. "So, Alec?" he asked, the corner of his mouth ticking upward. The warlock merely rolled his eyes.

"Alexander will be back later today. With Clarissa." Magnus added.

Jace knew that the warlock was still speaking. He could see his lips moving. But he focused on the only word Magnus had said that mattered. _Clary_. Even the thought of her name sent his adrenaline pumping and his heart pounding. She was coming? Here? But . . . "I thought only Alec was allowed here."

At this, the warlock smiled. "The Inquisitor merely stated that Clary and Isabelle could not accompany you here last night. She said nothing about either of them coming over at another time—nor was it stipulated in the contract."

Jace grinned, but he was frowning almost as quickly. "She's probably going to bring the rat boy with her." he grumbled. "For some reason she always brings the rat boy."

"The rat boy?" Magnus asked, his brow twitching. Jace looked at him, and the warlock smiled. "Ah, I assume you mean the mundane that indeed turned into a rat?"

"The very one," Jace said grumpily.

"I suppose you don't feel he's good enough for your sister?" Magnus asked, and Jace flinched. "Or perhaps its something much more." The warlock mused.

Jace gave the Magnus a dirty look. "Are you and Alec _canoodling?"_ he shot back.

"I . . ." The warlock sputtered, and then he drew himself up to his full height, his eyes narrowing. "You know about Alexander's sexuality."

It wasn't a question, but Jace nodded. "He doesn't know I know."

"If I were you, I'd keep it that way." Magnus said cautiously. "Coming out is not easy—"

"But he came out to you." Jace had meant to say it pointedly, but he could hear the hurt in his tone. Didn't Alec trust him?

"It's easier to come out to someone your not in love with." Magnus blurted bitterly. And then his eyes went wide at the same time Jace's did.

"What?" Jace sputtered.

"What?"

"What did you just say?"

"Nothing. I said nothing."

"Yes you did."

"Nope. You're obviously tired and hearing things."

"I am not."

"Yes you are."

Magnus raised a finger.

When Jace woke up, he was sitting in an overstuffed chair back in his room. The TV was on in front of him and he looked around confused. How had he gotten here? He couldn't remember having come back in here, but he must have. He tried to remember what he had been doing right before but couldn't remember. Drinking coffee! He and Magnus had been talking and drinking coffee. He remembered that the warlock had also said something about Alec and Clary coming over—his heart gave a leap. But he felt there was more. Like something was missing. He shook his head and looked down at the purplish-silver cream around his wrist. He remembered the warlock applying that as well. What time was it, he wondered. He heaved a sigh and then looked up as the warlock came in the room.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his cat like eyes watching him carefully.

"Okay," Jace shrugged. "How'd I get here?"

Magnus frowned. "I thought you wouldn't remember. You had a dizzy spell in the kitchen. Passed out and hit your head on the counter. I brought you back in here."

"Really?" Jace asked, his frown deepening. "But I felt fine earlier. I thought you healed whatever had been wrong with me."

"Yeah, well, you weren't. And apparently I missed something." The warlock snapped. "You started talking nonsense and then down you went. Don't worry," he added. "I healed you—for sure this time and free of charge."

Jace's eyes narrowed. "If you say so." He then tried to focus on the TV. The TV show had a bunch of women walking around in skimpy clothes while others judged them. Jace looked at Magnus with a raised brow. "What are we watching?"

"_America's Next Top Model_," Magnus said. "And trust me, some of these women are just scandalous! I usually miss it when they first come on, but—" he wiggled his fingers with a sly grin. "I'm often able to watch them later."

Jace's brow furrowed as Magnus took a seat next to him. Who says 'scandalous' anymore? Sighing, he decided to say nothing as he sat back and sunk into the chair. He could feel the exhaustion to his very core, but this time it had nothing to do with being tired. He was as awake as could be. Mentally, however . . . was a whole other story. When the show ended, Magnus got up with a 'tsk, tsk' and complained about how whatever woman it was that didn't win should have won, before leaving the room. Jace shook his head and wished he was back at the Institute. In the other room, he could hear speaking and felt a moment of confusion. He hadn't heard anyone knock or ring a bell. And then she was there—walking through the door as beautiful as ever. And behind her was—Jace sighed and slumped down further in the chair. He _knew _it. Why the fuck did she always have to bring the stupid mundane with her? Was she _trying_ to torture him?

"What's on?" came Magnus's voice, and Jace looked at the TV just as the title of the new show flashed across the screen followed by examples.

"_What Not To Wear,"_ Jace said, making sure to draw out his words in the way that he knew Clary hated. And then he sat forward, trying desperately to pay attention to the screen instead of her overpowering presence. He made a production of shaking his head. "High-waisted khaki pants?" he said in mock horror. "Who _wears _those?" And then he looked up at Magnus, his brow arching. Alec was standing behind him, but he ignored him. "Nearly unlimited supernatural power and all you do is use it to watch reruns. What a waste."

Magnus stared at him unamused, but it wasn't him that spoke next. "Also," the rat boy suddenly spoke out to Jace's irritation. "TiVo accomplishes much the same thing." Jace refused to look at him, and slumped back in his chair instead.

"My way is cheaper," he heard Magnus say. And then he heard the sound of clapping and the velvet curtains flew open. Jace grumbled and threw an arm in front of his face to shield his eyes from the light. _Rude,_ he thought. But Magnus didn't seem to care. He had turned to the mundane triumphantly. "Can you do _that_ without magic?"

"Actually," the mundane said, and Jace fantasied punching him, "yes. If you watched infomercials, you'd know that."

Jace rolled his eyes just as Clary spoke. "Enough," she said irritably, and he lowered his arm. The light stung his eyes, but with each blink he was getting used to it. "We need to talk," she continued, and Jace turned to look at her blankly—his heart skipping as he did. "All of us," she added. "About what we're going to do."

"I was going to watch _Project Runway,"_ he retorted. "It's on next."

"No you're not," Magnus said suddenly, snapping his fingers. Jace frowned as the TV sputtered and died in a puff of smoke. _I hadn't really been watching it anyway,_ Jace thought irritably. _So ha ha . . . joke's on you._ But all the same, he said nothing as he noticed that they were all staring at him. "You need to deal with this," Magnus said.

"Suddenly you're interested in solving my problems?" Jace challenged.

But Magnus was unfazed. "I'm interested in getting my apartment back," he said. "I'm tired of you cleaning all the time." And then Magnus snapped his fingers both impatiently and threateningly. "Get up."

"Or you'll be the next one to go up in smoke," Simon said with a grin. Jace, however just glared as the warlock rounded on the stupid mundane.

"There's no need to clarify my finger snap," Magnus said pointedly. "The implication was clear in the snap itself."

"Fine," Jace said shaking his head and trying not to look at Clary as he got up. He remembered all too well last night—laying in her lap as she caressed his face and ran her fingers gently through his hair. And then again in the graveyard after he had laid in the grass, her fingers rubbing his back and caressing his face and neck. He bit the inside of his cheek. Don't think about that, he told himself. But he didn't listen. He couldn't help but remember the warmth of her fingers and the tenderness of her touch. He tried to clear his head as he looked at the warlock. "You want a round table meeting, we can have a round table meeting."

"I love round tables," Magnus said with glee, and Jace caught Clary looking at him with raised brows. He shook his head despite himself hiding a smile. "They suit me so much better than square," Magnus finished leaving the room.

Jace ran his fingers through his hair and gestured the others forward. In the living room, he found a large circular table surrounded by five plush high-backed chairs.

"That's amazing," Clary breathed in appreciation as she slipped into one of the chairs, the high back dwarfing her tiny size. Jace smiled, but then caught Magnus looking at him and quickly lost it. One by one they all took a seat, leaving Jace a chair between Alec and Simon. _Of course,_ he thought irritably. He pulled the chair back roughly and took a seat—immediately popping the two front legs off the floor as he leaned back just as Clary spoke again. "How can you create something out of nothing like that?"

"You can't," Magnus said with a sly smile. "Everything comes from somewhere. These come from an antique reproduction stores on Fifth Avenue, for instance. And these—" Jace watched with a bored expression as five white paper cups materialized on the table in front of each of them. "—come from Dean & DuLuca on Broadway."

Impressive, Jace thought. He knew they had coffee beans alone that sold for seventy-eighty bucks a bag. The mundane was the first one to reach forward and pull his cup toward him. "That seems like stealing, doesn't it?" But then his face lit up as he pulled the lid back, the steam fogging his glasses. "Ooh. Mochaccino." He looked back up at Magnus—or rather, Jace _assumed_ the mundane was looking at the warlock. He wasn't sure how he saw anything through the foggy lenses he wore. "Did you pay for these?" rat boyv asked.

Jace and Alec both snickered as Magnus grinned. "Sure," he said. "I make dollar bills magically appear in their cash register."

"Really?" the rat boy's brows raised in surprise.

"No." Magnus said flatly as he took the lid off his own coffee. "But you can pretend I did if it makes you feel better." And then he looked around. "So, first order of business is what?"

Jace placed his hands behind his head and watched as Clary wrapped her own hands around her cup, frowning. Was she okay, he wondered. Surely, it was okay for him to be concerned with her welfare, right? Before he could ask, she looked up at him and his adrenaline began to pulse like blood. Her green eyes were bright. "Figuring out what's going on would be a start," she said and then she leaned forward and puckered her full lips as she blew on her drink. Jace brought the chair down hard, swallowing and biting his cheek as he reached for his own cup compulsively. All the while his stomach did flips. "Jace," she said looking back up and his fingers tightened around his drink. "You said what happened in the Silent City was Valentine's fault?"

Jace looked down at his coffee, his heart pounding in his ears. He was surprised he could hear her at all. She wanted to know about Valentine. And he couldn't lie to her. Not to her. Never to her. He took a breath. "Yes."

He felt Alec's hand wrap around his arm, but he didn't look up. "What happened?" his brother asked. "Did you see him?"

Jace bit the inside of his cheek. What did they want to hear? That he had heard the slaughter of the Silent Brothers? That Valentine had tried to recruit him again? Had wanted him to willingly join him? Had used his emotions as a weapon against him? He looked up at his brother and saw the pity in his eyes. He hated pity. And then he looked at Clary, afraid of what her face would show. To his relief, it wasn't pity. Not even close. If anything, she looked worried for him while at the same time looking defiant. Her eyes blazed with emerald fires and he drew strength from it. "I was in the cell," he said and he could hear the emotionless tone of his voice. Nothing he could do about that. "I heard the Silent Brothers screaming. Then Valentine came downstairs with—something." Jace shivered, remembering the black abyss. He looked at Magnus then, who stared back with a raised brow. It was the only emotion he showed. "I don't know what it was." Jace continued. "Like smoke, with glowing eyes. A demon, but not like any I've ever seen before. He came up to the bars and told me . . ." Jace's voice trailed off as he purposely refused to look at Clary now. He had completely and utterly refused to allow himself to think about it. Not since the monster had whispered the words had he thought about them. But now . . . now he had no choice but to think of it.

"Told you what?" Alec asked gently, sliding his hand up to Jace's arm. Somewhere, someone coughed and Alec dropped his hand. But Jace couldn't really focus on that. And he didn't want to say what the demon had told him either. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about what the demon had said would happen to Clary . . . what had already been done to Clary. It was like the demon had known his deepest fear. He bit the inside of his cheek and instead focused on his father—what it had been his father wanted.

"Maellartach," he said instead, his heart racing. "He wanted the Soul-Sword and he killed the Silent Brothers to get it." He looked at Alec and Magnus. He even looked at Simon. Anyone but the Clary. When he looked at Magnus again, he saw he was frowning.

"Alec," the warlock said suddenly, and Jace saw that Alec was surprised to be being addressed. And then he turned red. Jace's eyes narrowed as something else pulled on the corner of his mind. Something that had to do with Magnus and Alec and somehow himself. He shook it away. "Last night," Magnus continued, "when the Silent Brothers called for your help, where was the Conclave? Why was no one at the Institute?"

Jace looked at Alec. He was sure he knew the answer to this as well, though he couldn't remember. Hadn't the Inquisitor and Maryse talked about this? Something about a distraction—Jace remembered that much. Alec cleared his throat. "There was a Downworlder murder in Central Park last night," he said, and then something broke through Jace's memory. A fey . . . a fey had been murdered. "A faerie child was killed," Alec said as if reading Jace's thoughts. "The body was drained of blood."

"I bet the Inquisitor thinks I did that, too," Jace said sarcastically, though he felt anything but. He wouldn't be surprised if she really did. "My reign of terror continues," he muttered.

Magnus seemed not to hear him, however, as he jumped suddenly to his feet and crossed to the window. Pushing back the curtain, Jace blinked in the bright light. He wished he would stop unexpectedly opening curtains. Not that the warlock cared for the delicate sight of others. "Blood," Magnus breathed, pacing now. Jace turned to look at Alec, but saw that he was watching the warlock with worry and something else. _Seriously! What the hell was going on between those two? _And why did he feel like he already knew, but couldn't remember? Like a song you couldn't remember though you've heard it a hundred times. Before he could think anymore on it, Magnus turned to look at them all. "I had a dream two nights ago," he said. "I saw a city all of blood, with towers made of bone, and blood ran in the streets like water."

_Well, that's cheerful. _Jace thought dryly. But then it wasn't like warlocks dreamed about puppies and sparkly rainbows, he supposed. Granted, this _was _Magnus so anything was possible. Simon seemed to find Magnus' words just as depressing as he leaned toward Jace. "Is standing by the window muttering about blood something he does all the time?"

Jace stared at the rat boy blankly. And then, unable to stop himself, "No," he said. "Sometimes he sit's on the couch and does it."

Clary rolled her eyes at the same moment that Alec threw them both a stabbing glare. Alec then turned to the warlock. "Magnus, what's wrong?"

Magnus, who seemed to have heard nothing, looked at Alec with wide eyes. Jace noticed that the warlocks skin looked paler, and he narrowed his eyes. "The blood," Magnus repeated. "It can't be a coincidence." He looked back out the window where the sun was beginning to set. "There have been several murders this week of Downworlders," the warlock continued. "A warlock, killed in an apartment tower down by South Street Seaport. His neck and wrist were cut and the body drained of blood." Jace didn't bother to ask how Magnus knew the details of the warlocks death. "And a werewolf," Magnus continued, "was killed at the Hunter's Moon a few days ago. The throat was cut in that case as well."

"It sounds like vampires," Simon said suddenly, and Jace, noticing the mundanes pallor, wondered if he was reliving fond memories in the care of Raphael's clan. All the same, Jace shook his head in disagreement.

"I don't think so," he said. "At least, Raphael said it wasn't the Night Children's work. He seemed adamant about it."

"Yeah, 'cause _he's _trustworthy," Simon retorted into his coffee.

"In this case I think he's telling the truth," Magnus said letting the curtain fall closed and casting them all back in darkness as he made his way back to the table. Jace noticed he was carrying a large green book that he hadn't had before as he sat. "There was a strong demonic presence at both locations," the warlock continued. "I think someone else was responsible for all three deaths." And then his cat like eyes met Jace's golden ones. "Not Raphael and his tribe, but Valentine."

Just once, Jace would like to hear that his father's biggest crime was helping an old lady cross the road. He could feel everyone's eyes on him now—her's especially—but he ignored them all as he looked at Magnus. He sighed. "Why do you say that?"

But it wasn't Magnus who answered. "The Inquisitor thought the faerie murder was a diversion," Clary said, and Jace closed his eyes taking a breath before looking at her beautiful face. "So that he could plunder the Silent City without worrying about the Conclave."

Jace kept his voice masked when he answered. This was her father they were speaking about too. But then, perhaps it was easier to cast him out when you didn't grow up knowing him. "There are easier ways to create a diversion," he said, unsure why he felt defensive. "And it is unwise to antagonize the Fair Folk. He wouldn't have murdered one of the clan of faerie if he didn't have a reason."

"He had a reason." It was Magnus, and Jace slew his eyes toward him, feeling his heart rate quicken. "There was something he wanted from the faerie child, just as there was something he wanted from the warlock and the werewolf he killed."

"What's that?" Alec asked.

"Their blood." Magnus looked to each of them, his eyes meeting Jace's last. Jace bit the inside of his cheek. Finally, the warlock looked down and, opening the book, began to thumbing through it's pages. Jace, on the other hand, felt the sudden urge to take the book and fling it out the window. He didn't want to know. He didn't want it to be true. But why? He argued with himself. He couldn't possibly want to protect the man that hurt him, could he? "Ah," Magnus said suddenly, "here." And Jace forced himself to pay attention as Magnus tapped the page. Alec leaned forward but the warlock shook his head. "You wont be able to read it," he said. "It's written in a demon language. Purgatic."

"I can recognize the drawing, though," Alec countered, pointing at the book. "That's Maellartach. I've seen it before in books."

Magnus looked down at the book, frowning. And then he sighed, his face growing paler. "The Ritual of Infernal Conversion," he said gravely. "That's what Valentine's trying to do."

Jace could tell that the warlock had said this with the expectation of great effect. Perhaps he had meant for them to ooh or ah—maybe even scream, but nope—instead he got four eyes looking dumbfoundedly at him. It was Clary who broke the silence. "The what of what?" she asked and Jace chuckled under his breath as Magnus sighed irritably.

"Every magical object has an alliance," the warlock explained. "The alliance of the Soul-Sword is seraphic—like those angel knives you Shadowhunters use, but a thousand times more so, because its power was drawn from the Angel himself, not simply the invocation of an angelic name. What Valentine wants to do is reverse its alliance—make it an object of demonic rather than angelic power."

"Lawful good to Lawful Evil!" the rat boy blurted out, and Jace raised a brow. Clary on the other hand, shook her head.

"He's quoting Dungeons and Dragons," she said. "Ignore him."

Jace rolled his eyes now. _This_ was supposed to be the guy trying to woo her? Pathetic. Magnus, who was looking at Simon like he was something curious but annoying, decided to take Clary up on her suggestion. "As the Angel's Sword," he continued, ignoring the mundane, "Maellartach's use to Valentine would be limited. But a sword whose demonic power is equal to the angelic power it once possessed—well, there is much it could offer him. Power over demons, for one. Not just the limited protection the Cup might offer, but power to call demons to him, to force them to do his bidding."

Jace's stomach dropped as Alec spoke what he was thinking. "A demon army?" he asked. Jace bit the inside of his cheek. His father couldn't—he couldn't do that, could he? But then he thought of the Uprising, and he knew the truth of it. He could. And as long as he had what he needed, he would.

"This guys big on armies," the mundane speculated, but for once, Jace didn't have a retort for him. He looked down at his coffee as Magnus spoke.

"Power even to bring them into Idris, perhaps." he said, and Jace felt like he was back in the warehouse with the Dragonidae, falling several stories.

"I don't know why he'd want to go there," the rat boy said. "That's where all the demon hunters are, aren't they? Wouldn't they just _annihilate _the demon guys?"

Jace met Magnus's catlike eyes. If his father brought demons to Idris, it would be for one reason and one reason only—because he had failed last time. His father didn't do well with failure, and Magnus seemed to know this as well. Neither of them said this though. Instead, Jace only mentioned the partial truth of it. "Demons come from other dimensions. We don't know how many of them there are. Their numbers could be infinite. The wardings keep most of them back, but if they all came through at once . . ." Everyone fell silent then as the full implication of what could possibly happen settled over them like an icy shroud. It was Alec who finally spoke, his head shaking slowly as he looked down at his hands.

"I don't get it," he said. "What does the ritual have to do with dead Downworlders?"

Magnus took a breath, his eyes flashing. It was as if he had been waiting for this question. "To perform the Ritual of Conversion, you need to seethe the Sword until its red-hot, then cool it four times, each time in the blood of a Downworld child. Once in the blood of a child of Lilith, once in the blood of a child of the moon, once in the blood of a child of the night, and once in the blood of a child of faerie."

"Oh my God," Clary breathed, and Jace felt his pulse hammering as he looked at the horror on her face. She was shaking her head slowly, her curls bouncing silently. "So he's not done killing? There's still one more child to to go?"

"Two more," Magnus corrected. Jace saw her lips tug down and wished more than anything that he could console her. Surely he was allowed to console his sister, right? But even as he thought it, he knew he was kidding himself. He didn't want to console a sister . . . he wanted to console—_stop._ "He didn't succeed with the werewolf child," the warlock continued, snapping the book shut. "He was interrupted before he could get all the blood he needed." He looked to each of them again, his expression solemn. "Whatever Valentine's ultimate goal is, he's already more than halfway to reversing the Sword. He's probably able to garner some power from it already. He could already be calling demons—"

"But you'd think if he were doing that, there'd be reports of disturbances, excess demon activity," Jace cut him off as he remember what the Inquisitor had said in the library before sentencing him to the prison. "But the Inquisitor said the opposite was true—that everything's been quiet."

"And so it might be if Valentine were calling _all the demons to him." _Magnus shrugged._ "_No wonder it's quiet."

Jace bit the inside of his cheek, as he looked from Alec to Clary and then back at Magnus. He couldn't deny that it all made sense now. _Son of a bitch! _How could he have been so blind? He took a breath just as the sharp ring of Alec's phone reverberated through the room. Clary jumped at the sound and then gasped in pain and Jace looked to her, instantly worried. He could see the hot coffee sluicing down her wrist. Next to him, Jace heard Alec say something about it being Maryse before getting up, but Jace was too focused on Clary. She was hurt and before he could so much as move, the mundane was reaching for her.

"Let me see," he said, as he took Clary's hand. Jace clenched his fists under the table as Clary shook her head, but he noticed that she didn't pull back her hand either.

"It's okay," she said nonchalantly. "No big deal."

And then the stupid fucking rat boy did something that sent Jace into blind fury. He kissed her wrist. In front of him. "All better now," the dead rat boy said—because that's what he would be once Jace was finished with him. He wanted to snap the assholes neck and throw him out with the trash. To . . . to . . . Clary's eyes flashed to his, looking startled. And he bit down hard on his rage. It wasn't easy, but he knew she wouldn't forgive him if he beat the little bastard into a bloody pulp either. All the same— "You're a Shadowhunter," he growled at her. "You know how to deal with injuries." Pulling his stele out of his pocket, he slid it across the table toward her. Clary looked at it and then met his eyes angrily.

"No." She shoved it back at him.

No? _No? _So she wanted the stupid mundane kissing her? Before he knew what he was doing—before he could stop himself—Jace slammed his hand down hard on the table, making her jump and then said through clenched teeth. "Clary—"

"She said she doesn't want it," Simon cut him off, and Jace snapped his head around to look at the gleeful mundane, who must really have a death wish. "Ha-ha."

"Ha-ha?" he asked, wondering if he was dealing with a child. "_That's_ your comeback?"

"What's going on?" Alec was back, looking between Jace, Clary, and Simon with a frown. It was Magnus who answered.

"We seem to be trapped in an episode of _One Life to Waste," _the warlock said. "It's all very dull."

Jace noticed that despite his tone and words, there was a spark of excitement in Magnus' eyes as he looked between the three of them. _Fuck you, _he though maliciously as he turned back to Alec, who was flicking his dark hair out of his eyes. "I told my mother about the Infernal Conversion," he said, taking a seat.

"Let me guess," Jace spit bitterly, his heart still racing angrily. "She didn't believe you. Plus, she blamed everything on me."

Alec stared at Jace, but Jace looked away. He knew he was being unfair—that it wasn't Alec he was mad at. He glanced up at Clary, who was no longer looking at him angrily. He wished she was. This would be so much easier for him if she hated him. He sighed, the fight going out of him as he looked down at his hands. "Not exactly," Alec said slowly. Jace nearly laughed. _Not exactly_ was the same as saying yes, but in a different way. He didn't say that, though. Instead, he kept looking at his hands as Alec continued. "She said she'd bring it up with the Conclave, but that she didn't have the Inquisitor's ear right now. I get the feeling the Inquisitor has pushed Mom out of the way and taken over. She sounded angry—" his phone rang again and Alec looked at it. "Sorry," he said. "It's Isabelle. One sec." And then he got up to leave the table again.

Ritual of Conversion—of Infernal Conversion. Jace thought about it. It was that or think about Clary, and he didn't want to think about Clary or her stupid pet rat. His father would have to seethe the sword in blood, but he didn't get all the blood. The wolf hadn't been bled dry. He knew this because he had been there, too. That was the night that Maryse had given him the boot. It had been that one werewolf—what was his name? Bat? Who had found the dead pup. Jace looked at Magnus. "I think you're right about the werewolf at the Hunter's Moon," he said. "The guy who found his body said someone else was in the alley with him. Someone who ran off."

Magnus nodded in ascent, like he already knew this. He probably _did _already know. "It sounds to me like Valentine was interrupted in the middle of doing whatever it is he's does to get the blood he needs. He'll probably try again with a different lycanthrope child."

Clary's eyes went wide. "I ought to warn Luke." And she was halfway out of her chair before Alec reappeared, stopping her.

"Wait," he said twisting his phone in his hands, a strange look on his face. Clary sat back down slowly, her eyes on Alec.

"What did Isabelle want?" Jace asked, sounding bored.

Alec ran his hand threw his hair, and Jace turned to get a better look at him. Whatever it was, couldn't be good if Alec was this nervous about telling them. Finally, he said, "Isabelle says the Queen of the Seelie Court has requested an audience with us."

Jace raised his brow, his mouth dropping, Just as Magnus shook his head with his own disbelief. "Sure," the warlock said dryly. "And Madonna wants me as a backup dancer on her next world tour."

"Who's Madonna?" Alec asked

"Who's the Queen of the Seelie Court?" Asked Clary.

And then they both looked at each other. Magnus looked from Alec to Clary. "She is the Queen of Faerie," he said finally, ignoring Alec's question. "Well, the local one anyway."

Jace didn't care if she was the Pope. The answer was no—fuck no. What could she possibly want to come see them for? He shook his head. Nothing good, he was sure. He dropped his head in his hands. "Tell Isabelle no."

"But she think's it's a good idea," Alec argued, and Jace rolled his eyes. _Well, if Isabelle think's it's a good idea . . ._

"Then tell her no _twice,"_ he said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Alec asked, and Jace raised his head to look at his _parabatai. _What the hell did he think it meant?

"Oh," Jace began, "just that some of Isabelle's ideas are world-beaters and some are total disasters. Remember that idea she had about using abandoned subway tunnels to get around under the city? Talk about giant rats—"

"Let's not," Simon said suddenly. "I'd rather not talk about rats at all, in fact." Jace grinned cruelly at him.

"This is different," Alec protested, and Jace slowly looked back to his brother, his brow raised. "She wants us to go to the Seelie Court."

Them? Go to the Seelie court instead of the Queen coming to them? Of course that's what Isabelle wants. No. No way. Not gonna happen. "You're right," Jace conceded, "this is different. This is her worst idea _ever."_

"She knows a knight in the Court," Alec said, and Jace gave him a withering glare. And there it is. She wants to go there for the knight, surely even Alec realized that. But he didn't. He just kept going on and on. "He told her that the Seelie Queen is interested in meeting with us. Isabelle overheard my conversation with our mother—and she thought if we could explain our theory about Valentine and the Soul-Sword to the Queen, the Seelie Court would side with us, maybe even ally with us against Valentine."

"Is it safe to go there?" asked Clary, and Jace couldn't help but to look at her with incredulity.

"Of course it's not _safe," _he snapped, and then instantly regretted it. He forgot how little she knew. And the flash in her eyes now, told him that she was about to remind him.

"I don't know anything about the Seelie Court," she shot at him angrily. _Yup, thought so. _"Vampires and werewolves I get. There are enough movies about them. But faeries are little kid stuff—" _Hardly. _"—I dressed up as a faerie for Halloween when I was eight. My mom made me a hat shaped like a buttercup."

"I remember that," the mundane said, leaning back in his chair. Jace glared at him. _I remember that, _he mimicked cruelly. "I was a Transformer. Actually, I was a Decepticon." _And now you're a jackass, _Jace thought turning away from him and looking at Magnus who had just cleared his throat.

"Can we get back to the point?" The warlock asked irritably.

"Fine," Alec cut in before Jace could retort. He was in a foul mood, and he had all sort of retorts just aching to be released. "Isabelle thinks—" Alec began, and Jace rolled his eyes and shook his head dramatically. Alec ignored him. "—and I _agree—_that it's not a good idea to ignore the Fair Folk. If they want to talk, what harm can it do? Besides, if the Seelie Court were on our side, the Clave would _have _to listen to what we have to say."

Jace laughed a hard dry laugh. Not likely. "The Fair Folk don't help _humans."_

Clary looked at him, and try as he might to avoid her gaze, he couldn't. The corner of her mouth ticked deliciously upward. "Shadowhunters are not human," she said, repeating the words he had once told her. That seemed like ages ago. When things, while confusing, had been much simpler. "Not really," she smiled.

Jace shook his head. She didn't understand. She didn't understand faeries or the Queen or how they worked. He did. "We are not much better to them."

"They can't be much worse than Vampires," the mundane chimed in suddenly. "And you did all right with them."

_Did all right? Did all—I saved your whiney ass! _ Jace glared at Simon with disgust. He should have left him there with the stupid vampires. Let him find his own way out. As he looked at Clary, he thought about letting the mundanes words go. Thought about ignoring him. But he couldn't. Before he could stop himself, he was fuming at the rat boy. "Did _all right with them? _By which I take it to mean we survived?"

"Well . . ."

But Jace was done letting the rat boy speak. "Faeries," he said over the mundane, as he glared hatefully into his eyes, "are the offspring of demons and angels, with the beauty of angels and the viciousness of demons. A vampire might attack you, if you entered it's domain, but a faerie could make you dance until you died with your legs ground down into stumps, trick you into a midnight swim and drag you screaming underwater until your lungs burst, fill your eyes with faerie dust until you gouged them out at the roots—"

"Jace!" Clary yelled at him, and Jace turned his head slowly to look at her. "Shut up. Jesus. That's enough." Her face was white, her eyes terrified. He bit the inside of his cheek.

"Look," he said to her now, his tone softer. "It's easy to outsmart a werewolf or a vampire. They're no smarter than anyone else. But faeries live for hundreds of years and they're as cunning as snakes." His eyes pleaded with her to understand. This wasn't kid stuff anymore. This wasn't fake wings and buttercup hats. "They can't lie, but they love to engage in creative truth-telling. They'll find out whatever it is you want most in the world and give it to you—with a sting in the tail of the gift that will make you regret you ever wanted it in the first place." Jace sighed, leaning back in his chair and feeling a hundred years old—which was saying something as he quite enjoyed being a svelte attractive adolescent. At least, he usually did. "They're not really about helping people," he continued. "More about harm disguised as help." Jace held Clary's eyes—those Idris eyes, hoping she understood. He couldn't put her in that kind of danger. She blinked, but did not look away.

"And you don't think we're smart enough to know the difference?" Simon cut in.

Jace turned to look at him, his brow raised. "I don't think you're smart enough not to get turned into a rat by accident," he said spitefully.

To Jace's pleasure, Simon reared back as if he had been slapped. Then the mundane crossed his arms, his eyes dark. "I don't see that it matters what you think we should do," he said savagely. "Considering that you can't go with us in the first place. You can't go anywhere."

Now it was Jace's turn to rear back. And then he was on his feet, his chair flying backwards as rage coursed through him. Was the rat boy really suggesting that they were going to go—that _Clary_ was going to go—without him there to protect her? No. _Fuck no. _He jabbed his finger violently at the mundane. "You are not taking Clary to the Seelie Court without me and _that is final!"_ He spit through gritted teeth. His body was wrought with the anger as he stared down the mundane. His fists were convulsing at his sides. Somewhere, he knew that Clary was watching at him . . . whether in shock or anger, he didn't know. He didn't want to know. She could just be mad at him. Suddenly Alec was next to him.

"I can take Clary," he said softly, and Jace's eyes flickered angrily to his brother's.

"Alec," Jace's voice was a taught as stretched wire as he tried to speak calmly. His heart was jackhammering, his blood pulsing erratically through his veins. Didn't any of them understand? She was the daughter of Valentine! They would use that! And if he wasn't there to protect her . . . to keep her from doing something utterly Clary . . . he gave a small jerk of his head. "No. You can't."

His brother met his eyes steadily. "We're going." he said, and Jace clamped down on his cheek. No. They weren't. They weren't going. He would stop them. Alec shook his head, trying to be rational "Jace—a request from the Seelie Court—it would be stupid to ignore it. Besides, Isabelle's probably already told them we're coming."

_Then she would have to un-tell them!_ Jace glared at Alec and turned so that there was maybe an inch separating them. "There is no chance I'm going to let you do this, Alec," he said, his voice strangely calm—deadly calm. "I'll wrestle you to the ground if I have to."

"While that does sound tempting," It was Magnus, and he was stepping between them. His tone bored, but his eyes on fire. "there is another way."

Jace turned his glare on the warlock, who was unfazed. "What other way?" He spit. "This is a directive from the Clave. I cant just weasel out of it."

"But I can," And once again, the warlock reminded Jace of the Cheshire Cat as he grinned. "Never doubt my weaseling abilities, Shadowhunter, for they are epic and memorable in their scope." And then he stepped away superiorly, leaving Jace looking after him in bewilderment. "I specifically enchanted the contract with the Inquisitor so that I could let you go for a short time if I desired, as long as another Nephilim took your place."

A feeling so small flowered in the pit of Jace's stomach, chinking away at the armor of his anger. He didn't dare believe it. Could the warlock do that? _Had_ he done that? He looked at Magnus with incredulity. And the Inquisitor never realized, he wondered? Never once suspected? He still didn't want to go to the Seelie Court, but if Clary was determined then this was the only way. He shook his head, still not daring to believe it. And then he looked at Alec, who looked just as perplexed.

"Where are you going to find another—oh," Alec said quietly, looking at Magnus. "You mean me," he said to the warlock, though Jace could tell he wasn't the least bit upset about it. _What the hell? _He looked at the two of them, though they were too busy staring at each other to notice. Was Alec really suggesting he would stay? That he was _okay_ with it?

"Oh, now you don't _wan't _to go to the Seelie Court?" Jace asked incredulously. What _the fuck _was going on between them?

Alec turned bright red and then began to sputter. "I think it's more important for you to go than me," he said quickly. Too quickly. "You're Valentine's son," Alec continued. "I'm sure you're the one the Queen really wants to see. Besides, you're charming."

Jace's eyes narrowed.

"Maybe not at the moment," Alec amended quickly, "but you're _usually _charming. And faeries are very susceptible to charm.

Since when did Alec give two shits about his charm? Jace thought irritably. And since when did his _parabatai not_ want to go somewhere with him? This _was _the same guy who had flipped out on him for getting left behind, wasn't it? Before he could say any of these things, Magnus stepped forward with a grin. "Plus, if you stay here, I've got the whole first season of _Gilligan's Island _on DVD."

"No one could turn _that_ down," Jace said flatly, crossing his arms. Behind him, he heard a snicker from Clary, but he still refused to look at her. She had seen his outburst over her and he could only guess what she thought of it. If she knew now how he felt—still felt. He bit down on his cheek.

"Isabelle can meet you in the park by the Turtle Pond," Alec continued as if everything had been settled. "She knows the secret entrance to the Court. She'll be waiting." Jace rolled his eyes. _He _knew the secret entrance to the Seelie Court as well . . . not that he was about to admit that. Not even if his life depended on it.

"And one last thing," Magnus said, poking Jace in the chest. Jace raised a brow in disbelief, but the warlock ignored it. "Try not to get yourself killed in the Seelie Court," he said. "If you die, I'll have a lot of explaining to do."

And for the first time since this began, Jace smiled. But it wasn't his usual charming smile. "You know," he said softly. "I have a feeling that that's going to be the case whether I get myself killed or not."

"Well, I'd prefer the 'or not.'" Magnus said, unamused. "Now go. Unless you think I was joking about the _Gilligan's Island _DVD."

The whole time Jace was getting ready, he couldn't help but wonder why Alec would be willing to stay with the warlock in his stead. He had been so sure that his _parabatai _would have tried to insist that Clary stay, and Jace had been more than ready to agree—to fight tooth and nail to keep her there. It wasn't until he was outside that it hit him like a freight train. He whirled around to look back at the loft, an amused smile playing on his lips. And then he remembered what had happened earlier in the kitchen. Remembered everything. "You smarmy demonic bastard." he breathed, his head shaking. "And good for you, Alec." He turned to follow Clary, the grin never leaving his face.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: <strong>Well I hope you enjoyed this! I always worry when I add content not in the books, especially something as big as Jace finding out about Magnus and Alec. He already knew he is parabatai was gay, but I had always wondered when it was he found out about his new boyfriend, and staying with Magnus seemed like the most sensible time. I hope you all agree! As always, thank you for reading and please, please, please, let me know what you think. I'm more than open to critique (preferably no flaming however) as I don't even began to pretend I know or remember everything about Jace and TMI, so if I forgot something or if you'd like to see something get added, let me know :)  
><em>


	9. A Gift And A Curse

**~Chapter Eight~**

**A Gift And A Curse**

If Jace had to be completely honest with himself, he was enjoying the trip. Even with the mundane there. It seemed like it had been forever since he had been out with a purpose. Not since the Dragonidae had Jace really felt free—even if it was borrowed time. And even if it was to see the Seelie Queen. He took a breath, enjoying the feel of the cool night air in his lungs as they approached Turtle Pond. The bright moonlight was reflecting off the water, and Jace cast covert glance at Clary and gasped. The light of the moon had illuminated her, making her shimmer beautifully. She looked up at him from under her lashes and he had to look away quickly, his heart pounding and his blood surging. He focused desperately on each step, counting them as he walked. The mossy grass was soft under his boots and in the distance crickets and nightbirds were singing. The only thing that ruined the serene beauty of this night were the ducks that drifted lazily in the water. Up ahead, a small gazebo looked out over the pond, it's reflection rippling in the soft waves. He saw Isabelle before she saw him and he grinned, his heart aching at the sight of her. It had been so long since he had seen his sister and he was amazed at how much he missed her. Truly missed her. He quickened his steps.

"Izzy," he breathed. At the sound of her name, Isabelle spun around to look at Jace, a grin spreading across her lips. Her eyes went wide and she flew forward, the green velvet coat she wore billowing out behind her.

"Jace!" She launched herself at him, and Jace caught her easily. He smiled, wrapping her arms around her and holding her tight. By the Angel, he missed her. She hugged him fiercely, the strength of her arms saying everything he was thinking. When he let her go, she adjusted the black dress she wore and then looked up at him with a grin, her eyes still disbelieving. And then she looked past him to where Clary and the mundane stood a few feet away and she floated toward them. Jace, who saw Clary watching him, followed slowly behind. "I can't believe you did it!" Izzy exclaimed, stopping in front of Clary. "How did you manage to get Magnus to let Jace leave?"

Clary smiled and shrugged. "Traded him for Alec."

Isabelle spun around, alarm on her face. "Not _permanently?" _

Jace nearly laughed, doubting Alec would mind a permanent arrangement. But then he remembered what Magnus had said about not telling Alec what he knew and Jace shook his head. "No, just for a few hours. Unless I don't come back," he said, wondering what the warlock would do then. He shrugged. "In which case, maybe he does get to keep Alec. Think of it as a lease with the option to buy."

Isabelle chewed hesitantly on her lip. "Mom and Dad won't be pleased if they find out."

It was Simon who responded though. "That you freed a possible criminal by trading away your brother to a warlock who looks like a gay Sonic the Hedgehog and dresses like the Child Catcher from _Chitty Chitty Bang Bang?" _he asked with a sly grin. "No, probably not."

Jace raised his brow. A gay hedgehog? How could one even tell if a hedgehog was gay? And what the hell was a _Chitty Chitty Bang Bang?_ Jace shook his head, deciding he didn't want to know. "Is there some particular reason you're here?" He asked. "I'm not so sure we should be bringing you to the Seelie Court. They hate mundanes."

Instead of arguing, the mundane merely rolled his eyes. "Not this again," he said, fixing his glasses.

"Not what again?" Clary asked.

Simon looked at her like he couldn't believe she had asked that question, and Jace looked at him like he wanted to punch him for looking at her. Simon ignored it. "Every time I annoy him, he retreats into his No Mundanes Allowed tree house," he said gesturing at Jace irritably. "Let me remind you, the last time you wanted to leave me behind, I saved all your lives."

_Whoop-dee-doo,_ Jace thought, twirling a finger in the air. "Sure," he said out loud. "One time—"

The faerie courts _are _dangerous," Isabelle cut him off, and Jace grinned. But Izzy cast him an annoyed glare and then stepped in front of him, still looking at the mundane. "Even your skill with the bow won't help you. It's not that kind of danger."

"I can take care of myself," Simon said defiantly as he shoved his hands into his pocket. Jace hadn't missed the mundane shivering, and he rolled his eyes. _We'll see about that rat boy. _Clary was watching all of them, a frown on her lips now as she looked at Simon. Jace could see the worry in her eyes, and he bit down the flare of jealousy and looked out a the pond instead.

"You don't have to come," he heard her tell the mundane, and Jace turned to look at her. From the corner of his eye he saw Simon look at him before looking back at her.

"Yeah, I do." he said.

"Of course fucking you do," Jace grunted under his breath. He looked up to catch Clary looking at him curiously he cleared his throat though it wasn't needed. Louder he said, "Then I suppose we're ready." And then he cast an irritated eye at the rat boy. "Don't expect any special consideration, mundane." And silently he added, _I hope they eat you alive._

"Look on the bright side," Simon smiled. "If they need a human sacrifice, you can always offer me. I'm not sure the rest of you qualify anyway."

At this, Jace grinned. _Count on it mundy-boy_. "It's always nice when someone volunteers to be the first up against the wall."

"Come on," Isabelle sighed, shoving past Jace and heading toward the bank of the pond. "The door is about to open."

Jace sighed as well and followed, with Clary and Simon not far behind him. When they reached the edge of the water, Jace looked down at Clary who was standing next to him his adrenaline beginning to course as it always did when she was close. Her ruby curly burned a deep red in the moonlight, and her skin glowed a milky white. She had her arms wrapped around herself as if she were cold, and Jace's fingers itched to wrap around her—to help keep her warm. He had to bite the inside of his cheek and look away to keep himself from doing just that. "Where do we go?" Clary asked suddenly. "Where's the door?"

Isabelle looked up at Jace questioningly, who drew his lips together in a thin line. She knew that he knew, but again, he wasn't about to remotely admit to that. And she seemed to realize that. Isabelle smiled. "Follow me." With that, she stepped through the thick wet mud and into the pond. Jace watched as the water slapped silently around her legs as she lifted her dress. He rolled his eyes, she was going to get wet anyway, so he wasn't sure why she bothered with that. Soon Clary followed, her light blue jeans turning a deeper blue once they got wet. And now it was just him and the mundane left on the bank. Simon looked at Jace.

"Shit," he sighed and made to follow Clary, but slipped. Jace's hand shot involuntarily to steady the rat boy at the same moment that Clary and Isabelle turned back to look at them. Even in the moonlight, Jace could see the flush of the mundanes cheeks and he allowed an amused smile to play on his lips, his brow raising. Simon glared at him, jerking his arm away and nearly falling again in doing so. "I don't need your help," he snapped. Jace smirked. _Sure ya don't. _

"Stop it." Izzy called back annoyed, her black steel toed boot tapping the shallow water angrily. " Both of you. "And then her eyes fell on Clary. "In fact, all three of you. If we don;t stick together in the Seelie Court, we're dead."

Even though he couldn't see her face—judging by the way she drew her shoulders back, Jace knew that Clary's emerald eyes were probably flashing as she began to protest. "But I haven't—"

"Maybe _you_ haven't," Isabelle cut her off with a wave of her hand. "But the way you let those two act . . ." She gestured at Jace and Simon, and Jace could very much see Maryse in Izzy. She would probably clock him if he told her that though, he hid a smile.

"I can't tell them what to do," Clary said angrily, turning to glare at Simon and Jace as well. The mundane had the decency to look ashamed. Jace merely lifted a brow and Clary rolled her eyes turning back to Isabelle who looked annoyed.

"Why not?" she demanded, and Jace nearly laughed. _Not everyone is you, Iz. Clary is sweet and kind and likes people being who they are. No expectations, _he thought. And then he frowned. Well there was one expectation . . . they couldn't be related to her apparently. But Isabelle went on, staring hard at Clary. "Honestly, Clary, if you don't start utilizing a bit of your natural feminine superiority—I just don't know what I'll do with you." She turned around to move away, but then spun around again, her eyes burning. This time she addressed all of them. "And lest I forget, for the love of the Angel, _don't _eat or drink anything whole we're underground, any of you. Okay?"

Jace held up his hand in a solemn promise but he couldn't keep the smile off his face. Maryse through and through. But Simon moved forward, his eyes nervous. "Underground?" he asked. "Nobody said anything about underground." Isabelle threw her hands up exasperatedly just as Jace threw him a withering glare. And he really expected to be able to take care of himself? Who was he kidding?

"Come on," Izzy shouted back at them. "We only have until the moon moves."

Clary looked back at Jace with confusion, but he only gestured her ahead, following silently while the dumbass continued to splash and curse behind them. He wondered if he could trip him and make it look like an accident. He probably could, but he doubted it would be worth it if he got caught. The further they moved, the deeper the pond got. Up ahead, Izzy had stopped and was watching them. Jace winced, making a very unmanly noise, as the ice cold water reached an uncomfortable part of his body. Clary looked back at him—she was practically swimming now—and forced a smile. Once they were close enough, Isabelle put out a hand. "Stop." And then she looked at Jace and beckoned him forward. "Jace, you go first," she said, moving aside slightly. "Come on."

Moving forward, he accidentally brushed against Clary and a warm current of electricity shot through him. She smelt of lavender and wet cotton. He bit the inside of his cheek as Isabelle met his eyes. It was strange, Alec could read just about every emotion Jace displayed . . . except for when it came to Clary. Then he seemed downright clueless. But Isabelle, the way she was looking at him now told Jace that she knew _exactly_ what he was feeling. But she was kind enough to say nothing. Turning, he smiled a thank you at her and then met Clary's eyes as he stepped backward into the moonlight. He stood there for just a moment, before he was sucked backward into the water. And then he was falling into nothingness. He landed gracefully, his body soaking wet as his feet hit the hard packed earth. Standing up straight, he pulled his wet leather jacket around himself a little tighter, before stretching and looking around. The long cavern glowed with enchanted moss, a curtain of vines at the very end, and several tunnels led several different directions. He had only ever taken the same tunnel, but he doubted they would be taking it this time. Oh dear God he hoped not, anyway. He turned just as a blur of red shot down sending his heart racing. Clary landed on her feet, but only just as she stumbled forward. Jace shot his arm out, wrapping his fingers around her thin long sleeve shirt—steadying her. Why hadn't she worn something warmer? he wondered.

"Easy does it," he said as she stood up straight, her hand gripping his arm as well. His heart began to hammer the longer he held her. _Let her go,_ he told himself. _Let her go, let her go, for the love of _God, _let her go._ And he did. Taking a step back, he looked at her. Her ruby curls were soaked and the water glistened like raindrops on her skin as she looked up at him shivering. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to decide what to do. Would a brother offering to help warm up his sister be considered weird, he wondered. He couldn't just stand there and watch as she froze to death, could he? He took a breath. "Cold?" he asked with concern. Clary looked up at him, his hair and his face. And then he saw her eyes lower to his chest and his pulse began to race. There was something there—he had seen it—something in her eyes. Desire maybe? He wanted so badly for her to want him. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't help it. Catching his stare, she looked away quickly and in the glow of the moss, he saw her check flush beautifully. The water was clinging to her lashes like diamonds.

"I'm fine," she breathed, her voice hitching as she shivered and wrapped her arms around her self. She still wasn't looking at him. His heart pounded—his adrenaline coursing. The tension was thick between them. He could feel it. Slice it with a dagger.

"You don't look fine," he whispered taking a step toward her. _You look beautiful._ He could feel the heat coming off her. Feel the shivering of her skin as he closed the space in between them. She looked up, her green eyes wide and uncertain and excited. And she didn't move away. Jace swallowed and began to reach forward—just as a dark hurtling shape dropped past them. _Son of a bitch!_ Clary spun, looking down at the sprawled mundane and Jace clenched his fists irritably. Would there ever be a time that the stupid rat boy didn't ruin shit for him? But then a small voice in the back of his mind asked what it was the mundane could have possibly ruined. She was his sister. _Sister!_ He had no business feeling for her the way he did.

Jace watched as the mundane felt along the ground blindly. "My glasses—"

"I've got them." Clary said reaching for Simon, his glasses in her hands. Jace hadn't even noticed her picking them up. He watched with mixed emotions as she helped the mundane to his feet and then handed him his glasses. "Here you go," she said. Jace bit back on his jealousy. He was jealous of the mundane that Clary seemed to be able to touch him without it being tense and awkward and angry with himself that _he_ couldn't touch her without it being tense and awkward.

"Thanks," Simon said just as Isabelle dropped down, landing gracefully on her feet just as Jace had done. Like the rest of them, she was soaked from head to toe. Unlike the rest of them, she wore an ecstatic smile on her face.

"Ooh," she squealed in excitement. "That was fun!"

Jace cocked his incredulously at her, thankful for something to look at other than Clary and Simon. But seriously? Fun? "That does it," he said. "I'm going to get you a dictionary for Christmas this year."

Isabelle frowned. "Why?"

"So you can look up 'fun,'" he said pointedly. "I'm not sure you know what it means."

Isabelle wrinkled her nose at him as she pulled her dark hair over he shoulder and began wringing it out. "You're raining on my parade," she pouted, but Jace just rolled his eyes as he looked around.

"It's a pretty wet parade already, if you hadn't noticed." He said flatly, looking down the underground corridor. He was ready to get moving again. After what had nearly happened between him and Clary, it was breaking his heart to see her fussing over the mundane now. _And what had nearly happened? _He asked himself. _She's your sister, _he continued. _And you have no one to blame but yourself for your heartache. She's moved on. You should too, before you wind up living in a city of heartache. _ Jace jerked his head to clear the thought, biting hard at his cheek until he tasted blood. Finally he spun to look at Iz. "Now what?" he asked. "Which way do we go?"

"Neither way," Isabelle said, watching him carefully. "We wait here, and they come get us."

_Wonderful. _Looking down, he kicked angrily at an upturned root. Clary seemed to dislike this plan as well. "How do they know we're here?" She asked irritably. "Is there a doorbell we have to ring or something?"

Isabelle shook her head. "The Court know all that happens in their lands," she explained. "Our presence won't go unnoticed."

Jace looked up at Isabelle, his brow lifted. He wondered how many times they noticed _his _presence in the past. And then he looked at Clary and felt inexplicably guilty—not that he should now that she had the magnificent rat boy with the power of near-sightedness and being a douche. As if hearing Jace's thoughts, Simon looked up at him before turning to Isabelle. "And how do you know so much about faeries and the Seelie Court, anyway?"

Jace had to hide his grin as Isabelle flushed. As always, the mundane was great as showing his tact. But she was saved from having to answer as the curtain of vines in the distance was pushed aside and a tall faerie stepped through. The faerie shook his long blue-black hair, and Jace looked at Clary to see the enrapture on her face. He couldn't begrudge her this. All fey were beautiful, and this one was no different. The faerie's silver armor glowed under the enchanted moss and his beautiful and terrible eyes grazed over them all.

"Meliorn!" Isabelle suddenly cried and jumped unabashed into the fey's arms.

Jace rolled his eyes just as Simon spoke. "Ah," he breathed. "So _that's_ how she knows." And Jace's hand itched to smack the dumbass. He crossed his arms instead.

Meliorn held Iz for the briefest of moments before letting her go gently and setting her down away from him "This is not the time for affection," he said with a melodic deep tone that showed no amusement. "The Queen of the Seelie Court has requested an audience with the here Nephilim among you. Will you come?" Jace didn't miss the point behind his words, and neither, it seemed, did Clary. Her eyes narrowed at the faerie as she put a hand on Simon's shoulder before stepping in front of him. It was like she thought her tiny size could protect him. She probably did, Jace mused.

"What about our friend?" she asked, and Jace thought now would be a bad time to point out that the rat boy was _her _friend. Not his.

"Mundane humans are not permitted in the Court." Meliorn said without inflection.

Simon let out an annoyed breath. "I wish someone had mention that earlier," he said to the group at large. And then he stared bravely at the tall fey. "I take it I'm just supposed to wait out here until the vines start grown on me?"

Meliorn raised a brow thoughtfully. "That might offer significant amusement."

Clary sighed, looking apologetically at Simon. Jace could tell that she didn't want to leave him out here. That the idea of it physically upset her. He could see the glassiness of her eyes and the quivering of her lip. He bit the inside of his cheek, unable to believe he was about to do what it was he was about to do. But then, what wouldn't he do for the woman he loved? Even if he wasn't allowed to be in love with her. Jace took a breath and a step forward. "Simon's not an ordinary mundane," he said, the words feeling foreign as they left his mouth even though he kept his face straight and serious. Isabelle and Simon blinked, looking at him with shock, but it was the look on Clary's face that made it worth it. Her Idris eyes glistened with appreciation—a grateful smile tugging on her lips as her shoulders began to relax. Jace turned back to Meliorn. "He can be trusted. He had fought many battles with us."

"By which you mean one battle," he heard the mundane mutter miserably. "Two if you count the one where I was a rat."

Jace's lips ticked upward just as Clary stepped forward, empowered by his own words. "We will not enter the Seelie Court without Simon," she said. "Your Queen requested this audience with us, remember? It wasn't our idea to come here."

Meliorn stared at Clary. Blankly at first and then slowly with amusement, his green eyes flashing dangerously, and Jace took a step toward her. "As you wish," the faerie said, a smirk on his lips. "Let it not be said that the Seelie Court does not respect the desires of it's guests."

Jace's stomach dropped as the fey spun and began to walk away—Isabelle racing forward to join him. This wasn't going to be good. Not even a little bit. He knew the Queen would somehow make them pay for insisting that a mundane be allowed to enter the Court. Jace bit the inside of his cheek as he met Clary's wide Idris eyes, his pulse pounding. He sighed and ushered them forward as he took up the rear. Jace placed a cautious hand on the seraph blade that Alec had given him before leaving as he looked around. In front of him, Clary leaned toward Simon.

"Are you _allowed_ to date faeries?" she asked. "Would your—would the Lightwoods be cool with Isabelle and what'shisname—?"

"Meliorn," Simon offered in a hushed whisper. And then he finished her sentence. "—Meliorn going out?" And Jace snorted. He doubted Isabelle really cared what her parents thought about who she dated. And who called it '_going out' _anymore? Plus, one didn't really _date_ a fey. They were really only interested in one thing. Sometimes only once, and sometimes . . .

"I'm not sure they're _going out,_" Jace said, putting heavy cynicism on the words. "I'd guess they mostly stay in. Or in this case, under." He looked ahead at Isabelle. He hoped she knew what she was doing. If fey men were anything like the females . . . he bit the inside of his cheek as they turned down a corridor made of stone.

"You sound like you disapprove," The mundane said, adjusting his glasses as he looking back at him. Jace stared back speculatively and wondered if his sister had heard Simon's words. God the rat boy really was stupid. Did he not realize that stone could carry voices? Really? This was who Clary chose? The only person he disproved of, was looking at him right now. Not that it mattered. He shook his head.

"I don't disapprove exactly," he said slowly, dropping his voice as he looked back up at the retreating back of his sister. Her long raven hair was shimmering in the glowing moss. "The faeries are known to dally with the occasional mortal, but they always end in abandoning them, usually worse for wear." And then Jace zeroed in on Clary wrapping her arms around herself, a frown tugging at her lips. Had his words upset her? Or was she just cold. Before he could ask, a peel of laughter floated back to them, and Jace looked up at Isabelle who was talking animatedly with Meliorn.

"You're so funny!" She squealed. And then Jace watched with concealed amusement as Izzy tripped forward. She was caught by the faerie however. Jace shook his head. _Jesus Christ, Isabelle, you're a Shadowhunter. Act like one. _

"I do not understand how you humans can walk in shoes that are that tall," Meliorn said blankly, and Isabelle grinned wickedly.

"It's my motto," she said, leaning into the fey. "Nothing less than seven inches." Jace groaned, and covered his face while Simon snickered. _Stop talking Isabelle. Just stop talking. _Meliorn's expression didn't change as he stared at Izzy, and even from where he stood, he could see his sister's cheeks flush. "I'm talking about my _heels,"_ she said quickly. "It's a pun—" _For the love of God, woman. Stop. _She didn't. "You know? A play on—"

"Come," the faeries said, having the good grace to cut her off and save her from herself—granted, Jace doubted that that was why Meliorn had done it. But it should have been. "The Queen will be growing impatient."

_Great_, Jace thought to himself. Just what they needed. An impatient Queen Isabelle however was watching Meliorn walk away with a disgruntled look on her face. She whipped her hair back. "I forgot," she muttered as Jace came to a stop next to her with Clary and the mundane. "Faeries have no sense of humor."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Jace gave a slight smile. "There's a pixie nightclub downtown called Hot Wings. Not," he added catching a sideways glance from Clary, his heart beginning to race, "that I have ever been there." And he couldn't be convinced to admit otherwise. Not now, not ever. That part of his life was over. Clary was his life now—his heart broke as he realized the truth of that. As he realized that there would never be anything he could do about it. He looked away from her and saw the mundane opening his mouth as if he meant to ask something, but thought better of it. He had better think better of it. Jace would just _hate_ to have to shut his mouth for him. And then he turned away from the mundane as well and found that they had just stepped into the Seelie Court. _Oh yay. _

The large cavernous room was bright, though no torches were lit. Jace knew that if one looked closely enough, they would see that it was the plants that shone with light. The tall marble pillars were wrapped in beautiful bright green vines and dazzling flowers that twisted their way skyward. Soft blue banners ripple gently in a breeze that should not have been existent down here and a low sorrowful and beautifully terrible melody filled the room. Jace bit the inside of his cheek. The faeries were nothing if not good at playing on ones emotions. And they had gotten his perfectly. He watched unimpressed as faeries of all sizes and colors danced in rhythm to the doleful tune. He saw their true selves. He saw the terrible power they displayed as they beckoned him forward, and he didn't fall for it. They could just have this dance without him. Next to him Clary stepped forward. _Shit! _Jace was so used to his permanent runes that it was easy to forget that she didn't have the same ones. Snapping his hand forward, he gripped her arm and jerked her backward into him at the same time that Isabelle did the same to the mundane. There eyes met briefly. And then Jace realized that this display had not been for them, who were protected against this, but for Simon who could not carry runes of protection. He had known he fey would try to make them pay for bringing the mundane. He looked down with exasperation at Clary, and she looked up at him with a hazy dreamy look.

"If you dance with them," he breathed, "you'll dance until you die."

Clary blinked, her brow furrowing. She looked half asleep, and Jace's heart began to race. This was just one more reason he had demanded to be with her here. Clary shook her head dazedly. "Whaaat?" her voice slurred and Jace sighed impatiently. _Why, why, why, must I be in love with the only mundane-Nephilim in the world? _He asked himself angrily, pulling out his stele. _Oh yeah, because you're a glutton for punishment. Or have you forgotten she's also your sister? _Jace bit the inside of his cheek and took her arm, flipping it over so her milky white skin glowed up at him, sending his adrenaline racing. But they didn't have time for that, and he bit it back as he quickly drew the Mark of Protection on her skin. And then he turned her once more toward the dancing faeries.

"Now look," he said, his hands still on her shoulders. And Clary looked. Jace felt her body tense under his fingers as she took a step back. He knew she was seeing the truth of it now. The terribleness of their beauty. Next to him, Isabelle was trying a scarf around the mundanes eyes, blinding him front he sight of the faeries, for he would never be able to see their true selves. The mundane would only ever be able to see the mirage they created for him. Jace sighed when Isabelle nodded to him and then began to guide Simon forward. "Come _on_," he said giving Clary a push. Together they walked slowly, Clary's head whipping every which way. The faeries danced and swayed alluringly around them, but Jace just rolled his eyes and surged forward. He made sure Clary didn't move more than a foot away from him. Always within reach. A few times he had to take her by the arm and guide her, and each time she seemed grateful. Finally, they stepped through the blue screens and the party behind them died out as they entered a new corridor with walls the color of a walnut. Jace, who had been holding Clary's arm, let go as she ran to Simon and began untying the knot that kept the scarf on his head. Jace turned away and caught sight of Meliorn watching the mundane and Clary with amusement. When he saw that he was being watched, he smiled and Jace returned it with an icy glare.

"That was some music," the mundane said next to him. "A little bit country, a little bit rock and roll."

The fey frowned. "You didn't care for it?" And Jace knew immediately that it was a false concern. But it was Clary who spoke.

"I cared for it a little too much," she snapped looking at the faerie with green fires. "What was that supposed to be, some kind of test?"

Jace looked at her, and though he knew he shouldn't, he couldn't help but wonder what her music sounded like. He imagined it was beautiful, like her. Something easily danced to. And he knew that if he were made to dance until he died, he would want it to be to Clary's melody. He cleared his head with a sharp jerk just as the fey shrugged without the slightest bit of remorse. "I am used to mortals who are easily swayed by our faerie glamours," Meliorn told Clary. "Not so the Nephilim. I thought you had protections."

"She does," Jace said, meeting the faeries poison green eyes with his own, as he put himself in front of her. Meliorn was unimpressed as he shrugged again and turned to walk away once more. Sighing, Jace looked back at Clary, who was watching Simon with worry. He bit down on his jealousy and ushered them forward once more. They walked in silence for awhile and Jace became lost in his thoughts as he watched Clary and the mundane. Was this what he would be reduced to? The third wheel who would be able to do nothing to change that? Who shouldn't _want _to change that, and yet so desperately did. His mood became fouler the deeper they went. He was expected to watch as Clary moved on—fell in love with someone who wasn't him. It wasn't right! And it wasn't fair. He crossed his arms just as the stupid rat boy leaned toward Clary.

"So what did I miss?" he asked. "Naked dancing ladies?"

Jace had to bite down hard on his cheek to keep from smacking the mundane upside the head. He had known he had meant it as a joke, but if he were serious about Clary, then he should have no desire to see any other woman naked. And then rage began to bubble in his stomach as he involuntarily thought of the idea that the mundane might ever see Clary nude. _Stop it,_ he told himself firmly. And he tried desperately to focus on his breathing as he tried thinking of anything else—frogs, maggots, Magnus and his K-Y jelly—_anything._ Up ahead, Isabelle had said something to Clary and the rat bastard but he missed it. And then they all came slowly to a stop in front of Meliorn, who was standing in front of yet another screen of vines.

"These are the Queen's chambers," the fey said, looking at each of them without emotion. "She's come from her Court in the north to see about the child's death. If there's to be war, she want's to be the one declaring it." And with that, Meliorn pulled aside the vines expectantly. Jace looked at Isabelle and could see the question that burned in her eyes. It was the same one that burned in his. _War?_ He seriously hoped it wasn't going to come to that. Isn't that the whole reason they were here? He sighed and ducked through the parted vines first.

Standing at his full height, he scanned the room quickly. It was simple yet elegant, though not nearly as elegant as the Queen who was lying on a plush chaise lounge, surrounded by sprites and pixies. But then this did not surprise Jace in the least. The Queen was vain, and she would not surround herself with anything that would outshine her beauty. Her scarlet hair flowed like lava—beautiful and deadly. As her crystalline eyes met Jace's, he made sure to wipe all emotion from his face except for a polite smile. Clary stood next to him now, and then Isabelle and Simon.

"My Queen," said Meliorn coming in behind them with a low bow. "I have brought the Nephilim to you." Jace thought she hardly needed to be told, but all the same, she sat up straighter as the faeries around her buzzed and tittered away. Her sharp eyes roved over them with piercing agility, and when she spoke her voice was like wind chimes in a soft breeze.

"Three of these are Nephilim," she said calculatively, her eyes narrowing on Simon. "The other is a mundane." From the corner of his eye, Jace saw Meliorn shrink back at the same moment that his stomach dropped. He knew he should have left Simon back at the bank of the pond. He had warned them, as had Meliorn, that the fey did not take kindly to mundanes. But would they listen? No, Clary's puppy dog eyes and quivering lips had pulled at his emotions. So what would happen now? What would the Queen plan next for Simon now that her little soirée had failed to lure him. And then he looked at Clary, who looked just as nervous. _Shit._

"Our apologies, my lady," Jace said respectfully, stepping forward with the same low bow Meliorn had given her, and at the same time placing himself in front of the others. He kept his polite smile on his face. "The mundane is our responsibility," he explained delicately. "We owe him protection, therefore we keep him with us." That was such a crock, but all the same the Queen tilted her head and looked at him curiously. Her eyes like piercing crystals that missed nothing. Jace continued to keep his face and eye void of any real emotion—only that which he allowed.

"A blood debt?" She asked, her tone light and sharp at the same time. "To a mundane?"

"He saved my life," Jace nodded solemnly and hoped that Simon refrained from opening his idiotic mouth as he had done last time with Meliorn. He would not be able to save him his fate if he did. And his stupid ass had better seriously appreciate what he was doing for him. He met the Queen's terrible beauty head on, his eyes beseeching now. "Please, my lady. We had hoped you would understand. We had heard you were as kind as you were beautiful, and in that case—well," Jace allowed corner of his mouth to tick upward as his tone dropped a devastating octave, "you kindness must be extreme indeed."

It had worked. The Queen leaned forward, a beatific smile on her face as she stared at Jace. "You," she began coyly, "are as charming as your father, Jonathan Morgenstern." Jace felt his stomach plummet at both haring her speak of his father, as well as her calling him by his real name. But he didn't show it. He kept his own leering smirk on his face as he gazed appreciatively at the Queen. He nodded in ascent. "Come," she said then, gesturing to large cushions nearby, "sit beside me. Eat something. Drink. Rest yourselves. Talk is better with wet lips."

Jace hesitated, looking at the Queen. Was she serious? Of course she was. But she had to know that they would not consume faerie food. Before he could answer, he heard Meliorn whisper into his ear. "It would be unwise to refuse the bounty of the Queen of the Seelie Court." _Yeah, like I don't already know that,_ Jace thought flatly. But agreeing to join her was the equivalent of taking a double edged sword by the blade. He also saw no way out of it. He looked at Isabelle to see what she thought, and saw her shrug.

"It won't hurt us just to sit down," she said moving forward and following Meliorn to the large cushions that surrounded the Queen. Jace looked down at Clary, biting the inside of his cheek. _Be careful,_ he said with his eyes, hoping she understood. Slowly they followed Izzy and Jace took a seat between Izzy and Clary while the mundane sat on her other side. He watched without speaking or showing emotion as a blue pixie flitted forward with a silver tray that held four matching silver cups. She stopped at Simon first, who took a cup and immediately set in on the ground, blanching.

"Don't you want any?" the pixie asked with a voice like a freshly rung bell as she moved on to Clary. Simon shook his head, placing a hand over his stomach as he looked down at the drink.

"The last faerie drink I had didn't agree with me," he said honestly, and Jace couldn't hide his smirk as he took his own cup and nodded in thanks. Like Simon, he set his on the ground next to him and then saw Clary plucking a petals out of her own. What the hell was she doing? He watched as she crushed it between her fingers, leaning down to—Jace bumped her arm his elbow and she looked up at him surprised.

He shook his head almost imperceptibly and as quietly as he could, "Don't drink any of it."

Clary frowned, looking at the drink. "But—"

"Just don't." he said firmly. Couldn't she just listen to him once without arguing? It wasn't like he was a Shadowhunter or anything. He continued to watch her until she sighed and set the cup down. Satisfied, he turned his attention back to the Queen, who he knew had watched this all with amusement. Jace settled his face back into the polite smile.

"Now," the Queen said, her humor gone and the smile no longer on her lips. "Meliorn tells me you claim to know who killed our child in the park last night. Though I tell you now, it seems no mystery to me. A faerie child, drained of blood?" her eyes swept sharply to Jace's, who stared back blankly. "Is it that you bring me the name of a single vampire?" She shook her head. "But all vampires are at fault here, for the breaking of the Law, and should be punished accordingly. Despite what we may seem, we are not such a particular people."

"Oh, come on," said Isabelle pointedly, and Jace's eyes snapped cautiously to her at the same moment that the Queen's did. Only the Queens glare wasn't so much cautious as it was icy. Isabelle didn't seem to care. "It isn't vampires."

"What Isabelle means to say," Jace cut in smoothly, "is that we're almost certain that the murderer is someone else. We think he may be trying to throw suspicion on the vampires to shield himself." The Queen cocked her head at Jace and regarded him for a moment.

"Have you proof of that?" she asked, a perfectly sculpted eyebrow arching.

Jace swallowed. On the outside, he kept his tone as light and calm as possible, without losing the seriousness of the situation as well. On the inside, he was nervous as hell. One slip, and who knew what she would do. As he leaned forward to look at the Queen, he felt his shoulder bump Clary's, and he took a breath. "Last night the Silent Brother's were slaughtered as well, and none of them were drained of blood." No, their blood had been used instead to give the pavilion of the Speaking Stars a makeover, Jace thought grimly. But the Queen was unimpressed with this news.

"And this has to do with our child, how?" she asked regally. "Dead Nephilim are a tragedy to Nephilim, but nothing to me."

Jace nodded politely in ascent. He was not surprised at all by the Queen's callousness. Had expected it, really. And he had expected it would be almost impossible to get her to listen. Next to him, he felt Clary move as he continued on. "The Soul-Sword was stolen as well," he said. "You know Maellartach?"

The Queen's crystal eyes narrowed, a smirk on her face. "The sword that makes Shadowhunters tell the truth. We fey have no need of such an object."

Jace took a breath. He knew know it was all or nothing. "It was taken by Valentine Morgenstern," he said, and he saw the Queens eyebrows tick upward with surprise—though Jace couldn't tell if it was real or not. All the same, he went on. "He killed the Silent Brothers to get it, and we think he killed the faerie child to effect a transformation on the Sword. To make it a tool he could use."

"And he won't stop," Isabelle continued. "He needs more blood than that."

The Queen turned her eyes to Izzy. "More blood of the Folk?"

"No," Jace said calmly, though he threw an irritated look at Iz . She should no better than to leave words open like that when in the presence of the fey. He looked back up at the Queen. "More Downworlder blood. He needs blood from a werewolf, and a vampire—"

"That seems hardly our concern," the Queen said dismissively, and Jace cursed internally just as Isabelle's eyes flashed.

"He killed one of _yours," _she said annoyed. "Don't you want revenge?"

Jace really wished Iz would just shut up and let him talk. But the Queen didn't seem put off by Isabelle's outburst. But then, the Fair Folk rarely ever seemed put off by anything. It wasn't until they struck out at you and left a wound that would never heal, that you would even know you had angered them. The Queens long lashes kissed her cheek as she closed her eyes briefly. And when she opened them, her eyes gleamed. "Not immediately," she said slowly. "We are patient folk, for we have all the time in the world. Valentine Morgenstern is an old enemy of ours—but we have enemies older still. We are content to wait and watch."

Jace shook his head. She couldn't be serious. Meliorn had just said that she was the one who wanted to declare war. But was that only when she had thought it was vampires who were responsible? Why, after learning that it was Valentine killing the Downworlders, would she choose to wait? "He's summoning demons to him," Jace said firmly, though cautiously. "Creating an army—"

"Demons," The Queen cut him off with a slight smile—cruel and beautiful. Behind her, the fey began chirping like birds and it annoyed Jace greatly. "Demons are your charge, are they not, Shadowhunter? Is that not why you hold authority over us all? Because you are the one who _slay demons."_

_Careful,_ he warned himself. Jace watched her with a blank expression, before lowering his head in submission—something he greatly hated to do. "I'm not here to give you orders on behalf of the Clave," he said calmly, looking back up at her. "We came when you asked us because we thought that if you knew the truth, you'd help us."

The Queen snapped forward, her piercing eyes flashing. "Is that what you thought?" She asked with deadly calmness that sent Jace's adrenaline involuntarily racing. He didn't show it though. He kept his face as calm as could be. "Remember, Shadowhunter, there are those of us who chafe under the rule of the Clave. Perhaps we are tired of fighting your wars for you."

"But it isn't our war alone," Jace countered delicately, but his voice hard at the same time. "Valentine hates Downworlders more than he hates demons. If he defeats us, he'll go after you next." he said, his eyes unwavering as the Queen pierced his gaze with her crystalline orbs. Jace shook his head softly. "And when he does," he continued, still just as calm, "remember that it was a Shadowhunter who warned you what was coming."

The room was silent then, but Jace looked at no one but the Queen. He didn't dare. He knew she would judge his strength and resolve if he did. And she—she never removed her gaze from his. He watched, his heart beating out the seconds, as she sat back and took a drink from her own silver cup, before setting it back on a platter. Finally she smiled. "Warning me about your own parent," she said, and Jace swallowed hearing the acid in her voice. "I had thought you mortals capable of filial affection, at least, and yet you seem to feel no loyalty toward Valentine, your father." Jace bit down hard on his cheek, saying nothing. She didn't know the half of what he felt toward his father, and she understood even less. And so he would give her no satisfaction of a reply. This only made the Queen smile wider, however. "Or perhaps," she went on, "this hostility of yours is a pretense. Love does make liars out of your kind."

Jace felt his heart begin to jackhammer at her words. Could he deny what she said? Didn't he lie to everyone around him every single day because he was in love with Clary? It wasn't him who spoke next. "But we don't love our father." It was Clary. And Jace watched with horror as the Queen truly looked at her for the first time. "We hate him."

_"__Do_ you?" the Queen smirked. And though her tone sounded bored, Jace could see the flash in her eyes. This wasn't going to end in their favor, he realized. All he could do now was try to salvage what he could.

"You know how the bonds of family are, my lady," Jace said forcing himself to stay calm. "They cling as tightly as vines. And sometimes, like vines, they cling tightly enough to kill."

The Queen turned her gaze slowly back to Jace. "You would betray your own father for the sake of the Clave?"

Jace nodded. "Even so, Lady."

And then the Queen of the Seelie Court laughed. Jace tried to keep his composure, but the sound sent chills coursing through his body as if he had been dunked in a icy river. "Who would have thought," she said with relish, "that Valentine's little experiments would turn on him?"

_Experiments?_ The word hit Jace hard. _What the hell did she mean by that? _He looked at Clary who was looking back at him with confusion. She shook her head. But it was neither of them who spoke. "_Experiments?" _It was Isabelle. But the Queen had eyes for no one but Jace, and Jace stared steadily back as he tried to dissect the word.

"The Fair Folk are a people of secrets," she said silkily, her eyes like arsenic. "Our own, and others'. Ask your father, when next you see him, what blood runs in your veins, Jonathan."

Jace bit the inside of his cheek. She was trying to goad him, and he wouldn't allow her. Instead, he said, "I hadn't planned on asking him anything next time I see him." And then he smiled elegantly. "But if you desire it, my lady, it will be done."

The Queen looked at him, her lips slicing into a smile. "I think you are a liar. But a Charming one. Charming enough that I will swear you this: Ask your father that question, and I will promise you what aid is in my power, should you strike against Valentine."

Jace continued to smile alluringly. "Your generosity is as remarkable as your loveliness, Lady." Next to him he heard Clary cough, but he ignored it as he rose to his feet. "And I think we're done here now." Slowly the others began to get up as well. As he turned, he saw that Isabelle had already skipped to Meliorn's side and was chattering excitedly. Jace rolled his eyes and began to usher Clary and the mundane toward the door. It would be all too soon if he had to deal with the Seelie Queen again.

"A moment."

Jace's stomach dropped, his body tensing. He bit down as he controlled his face well enough to turn and look back at the Queen. She looked incredibly pleased. Like the cat who swallowed the canary. Jace raised a brow, his politeness stretching thin. She smiled in return.

"One of you must stay," she said.

"What do you mean?" Jace's heart pounded in his ears. And then his heart stopped completely as she stretched out a delicate finger to indicate Clary.

"Once our food or drink passes mortal lips, the mortal is ours," she said sweetly. "You know this Shadowhunter."

Jace shook his head, looking at Clary. _No, _he thought with horror. He had made her put it down. Had watched her as she—_NO. _Clary was also shaking her head, her wide eyes matching Jace's. "I didn't drink any of it," she shot at the Queen. And then she turned fearful eyes to Jace. "She's lying."

"Faeries don't lie," his said quietly. And yet . . . he had made sure. He had told her not to. And he could see it in her eyes as they begged to be believed, and he longed to hold her. To comfort her. His brow furrowed. He believed her. She wouldn't have. He turned back to the Queen. "I'm afraid you are mistaken, Lady."

"Look at her fingers," the Queen grinned, pointing. "Tell me she didn't lick them clean."

Jace whirled on Clary. _Tell me it isn't true,_ he begged. _Tell me . . ._ Clary looked down at her hand with shock. He remembered her picking up that petal—crushing it between her fingers. "Of blood," Clary breathed. "One of the sprites bit my finger—it was bleeding—" She looked up at Jace her eyes full of terror and his heart broke. And then she tore away from him before he could so much as lift his hand. He watched, helpless, as she tried to walk out the door but was suddenly shoved back as if by invisible hands. Rage surged through him then, and he rounded on the Queen.

"I suppose I should have expected a trick like that," he said, the anger in his voice unmasked. But she was unfazed. "Why are you doing this? What you want from us?"

The Queen cocked her head. "Perhaps I am only curious," she said with a voice as soft as satin and as deadly as a blade. "It is not often I have young Shadowhunters so close in my purview. Like us, you trace your ancestry to heaven; that intrigues me."

"But unlike you," Jace said with forced calmness. "There is nothing of hell in us."

If he had expected the Queen to take offense to that, Jace was disappointed. "You are mortal; you age; you die," she smiled. "If that is not hell, pray tell me, what is?"

Before Jace could retort, Clary stepped forward. She was clutching her bitten hand delicately. "If you want to study a Shadowhunter, I wont be much use to you," she said, glaring at the Queen. "I don't know anything about Shadowhunting. I hardly have any training. I'm the wrong person to pick." _On,_ Jace added silently. Because he knew that was what the spiteful Queen was doing. And then he felt a surge of protectiveness as the Queen looked at Clary with those deadly blue eyes. But he stayed where he was. It wasn't easy, but by the Angel, he stayed.

"In truth, Clarissa Morgenstern, you are precisely the right person," the Queen said calculatively. It was as if she knew something they didn't and that bothered Jace. "Thanks to the changes your father worked in you, you are not like other Shadowhunters. Your gifts are different."

Jace looked at Clary. _Gifts?_ Short from the power to annoy the shit out of him while at the same time making him want to pull her in and kiss her, Jace wasn't sure he had seen anything out of the ordinary with her. Unless you count her beauty and stubbornness and her unwillingness to listen. Clary looked at Jace, but he couldn't think of anything to say, so she turned back to the Queen. "My_ gifts?"_

The Queen grinned mockingly and Jace wanted nothing more than to wipe it from her face. "Yours is the gift of words that cannot be spoken. And your brothers," The Queens eyes swept regally to Jace, and his heart quickened, "is the Angel's own gift. Your father made sure of it, when your brother was a child and before you were ever born."

Jace's heart pounded in his ears, and it was saying the same thing over and over. Faeries don't lie. But . . . how could any of this be true. There was no way it could be. Someone had to have told them something false. It would not be a lie if they were repeating something they believed to be true, would it? Clary was shaking her head. "My father never gave me anything," she spit. "He didn't even give me a name." Jace's chest felt hollow at her words. Valentine had given _him _a name, Jace thought. But it had been a lie. He bit the inside of his cheek and stared at the Queen in all her cruel beauty. He licked his lips.

"While the Fair Folk do not lie, they can be lied _to," _he said carefully. "I believe you have been the victim of a trick or joke, my lady. There is nothing special about me or my sister." And he tried not to flinch as he said that last word.

"How deftly you downplay your charms," the Queen laughed. "Though you must know you are not of the usual sort of human boy, Jonathan . . ." And then she looked at Clary, her smiled just as cruel, before she continued on to Isabelle who had been watching everything with startled silence. She passed over Simon completely, before landing her eyes back on Jace. And then her brow raised, and what might have been genuine surprise painted her face. "Could it be that you do not know?" she breathed.

Jace took a step forward. "I know that I will not leave my sister—" he again tried not to flinch, and thought he saw a flash of amusement in the Queen's eyes at the same time. "—here in your Court." He could feel the blaze in his eyes. "And since there is nothing to be learned from either her or myself, perhaps you could do us the favor of releasing her?"

The Queen passed a hand under her chin, her narrowed eyes passing between the two of them as if she was gauging something. He didn't like it. And then she leaned back with a smile. "What if I told you she could be free'd by a kiss?"

And Jace felt like he had been hit with a ton of bricks, followed by a raging elephant—because why the fuck not? He bit the inside of his cheek just as Clary blurted out, "You want Jace to _kiss _you?" The tone of her voice both bewildered and angry. It confused him, but only made the Queen smile wider before she burst out laughing. Her little sheep faeries joined the Queens tittering as well, and the room was suddenly filled with an unearthly sound. He looked at Clary, his heart racing, his palms strangely wet. Finally, when the laughter died out, the Queen looked down at them all.

"Despite his charms," she said "that kiss will not free the girl."

And then the four of them were staring at one another. Jace could feel the anxiety building in his stomach, and he began swallowing convulsively. He still couldn't take his eyes off Clary. It was Isabelle who spoke next. "I could kiss Meliorn," she offered, but the Queen quickly shot it down.

"Nor that," she said, her cruel smile never leaving her face. "Nor anyone in my court."

Isabelle threw her hands up in frustration as she looked from Jace, to Clary, and then to Simon. "I'm not kissing _any _of you. Just so it's official."

_Noted, _Jace thought still looking at Clary. He crossed his arms, his fists clenching as Simon moved past them toward Clary. "That hardly seems necessary." He adjusted his glasses, a smile playing on his lips. "If a kiss is all . . ." And then Jace watched, anger and jealousy biting at him as Simon took Clary by the elbows and turned her toward him. But this was the way it should be, wasn't it? It wasn't like _he _could kiss her. And then Clary looked back at Jace, and his heart broke. He had thought it was broken before, but seeing her in Simons arms . . . he couldn't watch. He had just started to turn away when the Queen spoke up.

"No." It was so simple and yet the word filled Jace with relief, though he knew it shouldn't have. They needed to get Clary out of here someway or another. "That is not what I want either." And Jace looked at the Queen. She looked like she was having the time of her life. He hoped she was enjoying herself, he thought bitterly. Why was she doing this? What was in it for her? The mere satisfaction of seeing Shadowhunters squirm? he wondered. Behind him, Isabelle spoke and Simon retorted, but he didn't hear what was said—though he guessed it was about kissing. Everything was about kissing in this moment, and his eyes met Clary's. He bit down on his cheek.

"Alas," the Queen spoke again, and Jace looked back up at her. "I'm afraid that wont do either."

"Well I'm not kissing the mundane," Jace said flatly, knowing they were running out of options. "I'd rather stay down here and rot."

"Forever?" Simon asked. "Forever's an awfully long time."

Jace sliced his eyes toward the mundane, a brow ticking up. "I knew it. You want to kiss me, don't you?"

"Of course not!" Simon said throwing his hands up. "But if—"

Jace shook his head. "I guess it's true what they say," he speculated. "There are no straight men in the trenches."

Simons face flushed. "That's _atheists,_ jackass," he said angrily pointing at Jace. "There are no _atheists _in the trenches."

Jace ignored him and slowly began to tick down the the options that the Queen had turned down. No to Clary and Simon; no to Isabelle and the entire Court; no to Simon and Isabelle; no to him and Simon. That left Clary and Isabelle; and Clary and— he looked up at the Queen in horror. _No._ She wouldn't ask them to do that, would she? His heart began to jackhammer, his stomach turning flips. The Queen smiled at him. "While this is all very amusing," she said, leaning forward and eyeing them all like playthings. "The kiss that will free the girl is the kiss that she mosts desires. Only that and nothing more."

Almost as if against his will, Jace's eyes pulled to Clary's and she was looking at him. Did that mean that she wanted him? His kiss? He could feel the elation and horror both. And then Simon took a step back, looking like he had just been hit. Clary turned to look at him and Jace could see the pain on her face. He could see how much she wished she didn't want what she wanted. She hid nothing in her face at this very moment. He couldn't do it—he couldn't make her. He rounded on the Queen. "Why are you doing this?" He shot up at her.

But the Queen only smiled. "I rather thought I was offering _you _a boon." Jace's mouth snapped shut as he felt his face flush. How could she know? How could she possibly—he shook his head. Had she seen him flinch when he had called her his sister?

"That's ridiculous," Simon suddenly blurted angrily. "They're brother and sister."

Jace watched, his ears buzzing, as the Queen shrugged. He clenched his fists in his crossed arms. A kiss. She wanted him to kiss Clary—his sister—the girl he was in love with. And she wanted her to want it. He swallowed as he looked at her, his heart was pounding hard. The Queen spoke, but the only thing he heard was, _'If she doesn't desire his kiss, she won't be free.' _He looked at Clary. Did she desire his kiss? Clary wasn't speaking. Slowly her lashes lifted and her Idris eyes met his. They were so beautiful. How long had he wanted this? How often had he dreamed of holding her again?

Next to her, Simon turned to Clary. "You_ don't_ have to do this, Clary, it's a trick—"

"Not a trick," Jace cut him off, his voice barely above a whisper as he continued to look at Clary. His pulse pounded in his ears, and he thought that at any moment, his heart might leap out of his chest. She blinked, and he melted. "A test." She met his eyes fiercely. A voice in the back of his mind screamed. Reminded him that she was his sister—that he shouldn't _want_ to do this. But he _did_ want to kiss her. God help him, he wanted it more than anything in the world. And he knew then that the Queen really had meant it when she had called it a boon. From somewhere nearby, he heard Isabelle.

"It's just a kiss."

That one sentence brought him to life. "That's right," he said as he stepped forward—toward Clary—who only just looked at him. But she didn't move. He kept his eyes hard for those who were watching; for the Seelie Queen who he did not want getting enjoyment out of this. But on the inside . . . dear God he wanted this. He wanted this more than he wanted anything else in the world. He wanted to hold her, and kiss her, and love her, and to be in love with her. And he wanted her to know it; to feel the same as he did. He swallowed as he uncrossed his arms. Reaching forward, he took her shoulders gently and turned her so that she was facing him. "It's just a kiss," he repeated Isabelle's words. He could hear the hardness in his voice, but as he looked at Clary, he couldn't keep it there. It melted away in a flash. He could see the strain of her neck as she looked up at him and he knew the conflict in her eyes well. Leaning down, he breathed in her ear. "You can close your eyes and think of England, if you like."

"I've never been to England."

It was all she said before closing her eyes. Jace took just a moment to look at her face, relaxed and expecting, before pressing his lips against hers. And then the world around them was lost. He had meant to kiss her softly. For her to feel nothing but gentleness. But his need for her flared like molten lava as her lips parted willingly. He felt her arms slide up his chest and wrap around his neck, and he realized with wonder and elation that she wanted this. She wanted him. He kissed her deeper, her lips like satin beneath his, as he snaked his arm around her back and pressed her firmly against him. She allowed it. He could feel the pressure against his body that was all her own as her lips worked with his. As she kissed him back with just as much need. Like always, she fit against him perfectly. His heart pounded in rhythm with hers and this was right and perfect and so very very—wrong.

Slowly, Jace became aware of the silence around them. This was what the Queen had wanted, and they had given it to her. Slowly, he slid his hands up Clary's arms and then pulled them away from his neck. He gave her one last kiss, his heart crumbling, before pulling away. He looked away quickly. How had the world not shattered when they parted? How was everyone still alive and breathing when he felt like he had just had his life ripped away from him. Everything he knew and ever wanted—the only thing he would ever want—suddenly denied to him again. He tried to control his face, but when he looked back at her and saw that same pain, that same anger and hurt and betrayal, he crumbled all over again. He rounded on the Queen,

"Was that good enough?" he spit, anger and heartbreak coursing through him now. Heartbreak of his own loss, and anger over the inability to do anything about Clary's loss. "Did that entertain you?"

The Queen giggled, her hand covering her mouth. "We are entertained," she said. "But not, I think, so much as the both of you."

Jace felt himself flush with rage. "I can only assume that mortal emotions amuse you because you have none of your own." _Yeah, _he thought savagely watching as the Queen stared at him. _That slapped the smile right off your face didn't it?_

"Easy, Jace." It was Isabelle, and Jace was suddenly aware with how hard he was breathing. He said nothing as he turned back to Clary at the same time that Isabelle did. "Can you leave now? Are you free?"

Clary said nothing, and she didn't look at Jace again as she walked to the door. Jace bit the inside of his cheek as he watched her test the doorway. But he couldn't really focus. He could only think about the kiss. The kiss that they had both really wanted. It had been both a gift and a curse. He saw her wave back at Simon and say something, but he didn't know what. He guessed that Simon might have responded. In fact, he hadn't even thought to check to see how the mundane was taking the blow of not being the kiss Clary desired—and for the first time ever, Jace didn't have it in him to gloat. He followed slowly behind the others as Meliorn took the lead and led them back through the underground rooms and out of the Court. But he couldn't help his curiosity. He cast glance after glance at Simon, each time biting the inside of his cheek. He didn't gloat, because he knew that look of heartbreak and anger and betrayal that the mundane wore. He knew it well. Clary seemed to be completely oblivious of it, but then she seemed to be oblivious of everything and everyone at the moment. Jace wondered what she was thinking. Was she thinking about the kiss? Could she see how much he had wanted it? How the Queen had told the truth when she had called it a boon for him? She had kissed him back. She had wanted his kiss as much as he had wanted to kiss her. So what did it mean for them? They were brother and sister but . . . surely what they felt couldn't be considered wrong. Not after that kiss?

Back in the pond, Isabelle had tried to say good-bye to Meliorn, but the fey had turned away without even looking at her—something she took serious offense to. "He is _so _broken up with," she snapped and Jace let out a snort and pulled his jacket around himself as they made their way back to the bank and out of the water. He was feeling lighter. Happier. Even if Clary still hadn't looked at him. The night seemed the same, though Jace thought that it should look much different. Everything was different. And he and Clary were both being careful not to touch one another. "We'd better get back," Isabelle said with a sigh, slushing through the water. "Before we freeze to death."

"It's going to take forever to get back to Brooklyn," Clary complained, rubbing her hands together. While Jace wanted to take her hands and warm them for her, he didn't dare. "Maybe we should take a taxi."

"Or we could just go back to the Institute," Isabelle suggested, and Jace gave her a withering look. _Criminal, remember? _"No one's there anyway," she said, seeing his look. "They're all in the Bone City, looking for clues. It'll just take a second to stop by and grab your clothes, change into something dry. Besides, the Institute is still your home, Jace."

Jace couldn't deny that it was tempting. He also couldn't deny that he had been feeling empty without his family ring, a reminder of his father, and he thought about the broken piece of the Portal he still had hidden away in his room. He still took it out to look at it from time to time, and if he was going to be staying with Magnus now, then he would want to get it. Finally he nodded. "It's fine," he said as agreement. "There's something I want from my room anyway." He looked at Clary, who was still being careful to not look at him, and then to Simon. _What the hell? _To both his amusement and annoyance, he saw the retreating form of the mundane. _Are you fucking kidding me?_ He thought irritably. But was he really surprised. He had seen his face all while walking back through the Court. He was hurting. He would need some time. He looked back at Clary, who was twisting her hair in her hands. He bit his cheek and looked down at his watch as if to check it for water damage. Really, he was waiting for Clary to realize that Simon was no longer at her side.

"I don't know," Clary said. "I might just grab a cab back with Simon."

Jace lifted his eyes and met her green ones full on. His stomach knotted. This was the first time they had looked at one another fully since they had left the Court. He was careful to keep from showing emotion, though he was surprised that she hadn't noticed yet. He absently turned the dial on his watch. "That might be a little difficult," he said raising a brow, "seeing as how he left already."

"He _what?" _Clary spun around, and Jace watched as she stared at the mundane's retreating form. She called to him, and called to him again. Each time she called Simon's name was like a stab to Jace's heart, but he only stood there and listened as the woman he loved more than life called for someone that wasn't him.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: <em>**_Sorry if there are errors, I wanted to get this up before work so my editing skills may not have been that great. Also. The Queen of the Seelie Court ships Clace ;) Please review!_


	10. Only For Her

**~Chapter Nine~**

**Only For Her**

It had taken some time for Clary to stop calling after the mundane. Jace had stood there and listened to each breath she took before yelling for him. He was both confused and upset. She had wanted his kiss in the Seelie Court—_his_. So why did she care if Simon had left? But even as he wondered it, he knew why. It was the same reason that she went after him at Hotel Dumort. It's also why he didn't try to stop her, but had instead waited for her to give up on her own. He was careful not to show the conflicting emotions on his face, however. When Clary had finally turned to look at him, he could see the sadness in her eyes. But he could also see the guilt. This irritated him. She had nothing to feel guilty over—at least not the way he saw it. With the mundane gone, Clary was torn between just going back to Luke's house and coming back to the Institute with them. Jace had been momentarily afraid that she would leave.

"Don't be ridiculous," he had told her. "You're freezing to death and the Institute is closer. I really don't want to scrape a Clary popsicle off the pavement."

She had said nothing to this, but consented. As they walked through the doors, Jace felt a sense of relief he hadn't felt in a while. He wasn't supposed to be here, but Isabelle had been right—it was still his home. As they moved through the foyer, Jace's eyes narrowed in on the small sleeping frame of Max and he smiled. He knew just by looking at him that he had been waiting here for someone, anyone, to return. Jace felt a flutter of affection shoot through him as he stood next to the little sentinel. He had been reading, but the book was on the floor now and his glasses were lopsided on his face as he took deep even breaths. Jace felt a flood of affection. "Max is like a cat," he whispered to Clary who had stopped next to him. "He can sleep anywhere." Reaching forward, Jace plucked the glasses delicately off of Max's face, making sure not to jostle him, and then folded them and set them neatly on a nearby end table. He loved Max just as much as Alec and Izzy, and it hurt just as much to be away from him as the others. Behind him, Izzy hissed about leaving the boy alone—and something else about mud, but Jace ignored it. Turning, he saw that she was hanging up her wet coat, a frown tugging at her full lips.

"I can feel a cold coming on," she breathed. "I'm going to take a hot shower."

And then like that she was gone, turning the corner of one of the long hallways. Jace watched her go. He missed this. Missed the simplicity of being here with her and Alec. He even missed Maryse and Robert. He shook his head and said to no one in particular, though Clary was the only one there, "Sometimes she reminds me of the poem—'Isabelle, Isabelle, didn't worry. Isabelle didn't scream or scurry—"

"Do you ever feel like screaming?" Clary's whispered breath cut him off. He looked down at her, his heart racing like it always did whenever he looked at her. She was curious. And tired. She was also shivering and he contemplated pulling her against him to warm her. He wondered if she would stop him. She hadn't stopped him from kissing her. She had kissed him back—had pressed herself to him. He thought about that and then answered her question.

"Some of the time," he said honestly, and then added silently, _but usually it's because of you. What you do to me and how you make me feel._ He took off his wet leather jacket and hung it dripping from the peg on the wall, his own shiver running through him. How much of it was from the cold, though, he wondered as he looked back at her. He smiled. "She's right about the hot shower, though. I could certainly use one." And from the look of Clary, she might need something to help her warm up, too. She could use his shower—would she wear a shirt of his if he gave her one? As if hearing his thoughts, Clary frowned.

"I don't have anything to change into," she said, not looking directly at Jace. "I'll just wait for you out here."

Wait out here? Was she kidding? "Don't be stupid," he said with a roll of his eyes. "I'll lend you a T-shirt." He looked down at her, and his heart began to hammer. First, at the thought of seeing her in one of his shirts, and then at seeing where her eyes were. As if against his will, he looked down at the peek of his abdomen that was showing between his water laden jeans and t-shirt. When he looked back at her, he saw her cheeks flush beautifully before she looked away. His fingers itched to catch her chin and make her look at him again.

"I don't think—"

"Come on," he cut her off. He wasn't going to let her say no. Not this time. She looked up at him from under her eyelashes but she didn't argue. He took this as a good thing. "There's something I want to show you anyway." With that, he turned and walked away. He could hear the light footfalls of her following him, and he smiled. She had already seen what he wanted to show her. In fact, she was the only one who knew that he had had it, though he wasn't sure she remembered. They didn't talk as they walked, but they didn't need to. A part of him knew that she was thinking about the mundane, and it would be a lie to say it didn't bother him. Especially after what had happened down in the Court. But then another part of Jace wondered if she was using him as a shield against him. If so, it was a pretty poor shield. At one point, he tried to hitch his jeans back up over his hipbones, but the weight of the water pulling them down made it pointless. And then he remembered how Clary had been staring at the indentation of his exposed hips and he decided to not bother anymore. He could still see her flush from looking at his bared skin, and he liked it. In his room, he went immediately to his dresser and began rummaging through it until he found a small blue long sleeve. Turning he tossed it to Clary, who caught it deftly. "That one shrank in the wash," he said. She held it against her like a blanket. "It'll probably still be big on you, but . . ." his breath caught as Clary turned her face down to it, almost like she was smelling it and then saw her shoulders relax. Did the scent of him calm her the way her lavender and cotton scent did for him? It had never occurred to him that the same could be true for her. When she looked back up at him, he tried to cover his hitch with a nonchalant shrug. "I'm going to shower. Yell if you need anything."

He turned and paced himself toward the bathroom, his stomach flipping the whole way. Once inside, he closed the door and leaned against it. He knew he shouldn't be thinking of Clary like he was. He had been trying to be so careful to not think of her as anything but a sister. Granted, he had also been failing spectacularly at it. But this was before the Seelie Court—before he had found out that she desired his kiss as much as he desired hers—and had kissed him back just as hard. That couldn't be taken away. And the fact that he was in love with her couldn't be hidden anymore because he knew that she had seen it in his eyes after he had kissed her. He bit the inside of his cheek and pushed himself off the door and toward the shower, turning it on. Taking off his shirt, he folded it and set it on the counter and then kicked off his shoes and socks as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. She knew how he felt, he told himself. She had to know. That kiss . . . it had to mean just as much to her as it did him. But he had never actually told her how he felt because he wasn't allowed. Not to mention she had been preoccupied with Simon as of late. Had she really moved on? Had she really gotten over him? It was a bitter thought, and Jace shook his head. Things were different now, weren't they? Maybe he should tell her. _She's your sister. _He sucked in his breath. "I know," he told the reflection staring at him. "But . . . we didn't grow up together. We—we never knew." He could see the desperation in the refection's eyes as he spoke. _Whatever helps you sleep at night. She's still your sister. _Jace felt his eyes go hard. "Shut up," he growled at himself. "I love her. I'm _in_ love with her. She deserves to know." _Good luck with that. _Jace bit the inside of his cheek as he stared at himself in the mirror. His golden hair was curling in the unfolding shower steam. But the voice was quiet now. He wondered if he was going crazy. Probably. He shook his head, his mind made up, as he turned and opened the door.

And his stomach dropped. Clary was sitting on his bed, his t-shirt across her lap and her phone to her ear. She had no clue he was standing there. He watched for just a second as she tugged on one of her curls before he said, "What are you doing?" Even as he said it, he knew the answer. Of course she would use her time alone to call the fucking mundane. Clary looked up in surprise, her phone snapping shut and dropping onto his bed. Her milky skin flushed red as her Idris eyes darted to him guiltily. Maybe she really had moved on—maybe she really did want to be with Simon now. He knew this had been a very real possibility, but seeing her on the phone . . . it hurt.

"Nothing," she said quickly. Too quickly. "Checking the time."

Jace eyes slid past her to the clock sitting next to her on the nightstand, the time glowing brightly. He raised a brow. "There's a clock next to the bed," he said flatly, irritated that she was lying to him. He decided to call her out on it. "You were calling the mundane, weren't you?" He could hear the disdain in his voice, but there wasn't anything he could do about that. In the back of his mind, a voice laughed cruelly. _Great way to start out this whole 'I love you' thing, don'tcha think?_ Clary met his eyes, her emerald orbs flashing as she picked his shirt up and began balling it in her hands. _She's moved on. You should too. _And yet, he knew it wasn't even an option for him, and that just upset him more.

"His name is _Simon,_" she said through clenched teeth. Jace wondered if she was going to throw his shirt at him. "And you don't have to be such a bastard—" _That hurt_. "—about him all the time. He's helped you out more than once."

Jace bit on the inside of his cheek. First, he would use the word _'helped' _lightly. Second, what the hell was it about her, he wondered for the hundredth-thousand time. He had come out to tell her how he felt and instead wound up arguing with her. Somehow, it always ended like this. Maybe he shouldn't tell her. Maybe he had been foolish to think that she might feel the same way. It was obvious she must not if while he was in the bathroom pining for her, she was in here calling the rat boy. And why? Because she felt guilty for kissing Jace—for wanting to kiss him over the mundane? That was ridiculous. Anyone in their right mind would want to kiss him over the mundane, so she shouldn't be so upset. Anyone but Clary, he thought bitterly. But that wasn't true either, or he wouldn't have been the one to kiss her down in the Seelie Court. He raised a brow, wondering. "And now you feel guilty because he's run off." It wasn't a question, and she didn't respond. When she continued to say nothing, Jace thought back to the look the mundane had worn. He could sympathize with that look—not that he would. He just could if he wanted to—which he didn't. Regardless of _him _knowing how the mundane felt in that moment, however, it was clear that Clary didn't. She hadn't seen his expression. In fact, Jace didn't think that she had looked at the mundane at all after leaving the Court. Finally he shrugged. "I wouldn't bother calling him. I'm sure he's avoiding you."

Clary's eyes narrowed, her face flushing with anger, and Jace's skin pricked with excitement. He knew it wasn't the right reaction, however, and he made sure not to show it. But he loved when the fire in her came out. He couldn't help it. "And you know this because you and he are _so close," _she spit irritably.

Jace shook his head, unfazed by her vehemence. If anything, it only turned him on more. Which it shouldn't. But it did. Which was maybe worse. He had to work hard to keep it from showing. "I know it," he began, his voice neutral. "because I saw the look on his face before he took off. You didn't. You weren't looking at him. But I was." _Because I've worn that same look when I've had to watch you and him,_ Jace added silently. Or at least, he had felt the same way. He was much better at hiding it though. Clary's eyes went wide but she didn't say anything. Slowly she dropped her eyes to the shirt, her hair hair falling into her face. Whether on purpose or absently, she pushed her hair back. Jace leaned against the doorframe, the shower continuing on behind him. He could feel the steam on his bare back. When she looked up again, Jace could see the anger in her eyes, but he didn't flinch back. Not this time. He had wanted her to hate him, and maybe she should. He had wanted to hate her, and he had failed. But now he wanted to be honest—to himself and to her. And if that meant that she was going to be angry at him for it, then that's just the way it would have to be. He wasn't going to pretend anymore.

"It's your fault," she said suddenly, her beautiful Idris eyes flashing dangerously. "You shouldn't have kissed me like that."

Jace pushed himself off the door, never taking his eyes off her. _I shouldn't have kissed you like that? _"How should I have kissed you?" He asked, his voice lighter than it probably should be giving that she was so upset. But he was willing to try it differently if she preferred. And need he remind her that she kissed him back? Probably not. She might hit him. All the same, he couldn't help wonder . . . "Is there another way you like it?"

"No." The word was so soft, it was almost inaudible and Jace had to keep the smile from spreading across his face. So the way he had kissed her was exactly what she liked then. She wasn't looking at him now, but he could see her flush as she stared at her entwined fingers. In that moment he wanted to throw himself at her feet. To beg her to try being with him. To tell her that it could work—that what they had was far too perfect for it to possibly be wrong. But then she lifted her eyes, halting him. "I don't want to be kissed by you."

_That's not true._ And he wasn't sure if that was more for her or himself. But what _was_ true—would always be true—is the fact that faeries don't lie. The Queen had said only the kiss Clary truly desired would free her. And it had been Jace who had kissed her. _He _had free'd her because she wanted him to. She still wasn't looking at him, and he felt a sudden surge of irritation. Why couldn't she just admit that to herself? Why did she keep fighting it? He had seen her eyes afterwards just as she had seen his. _The Queen played you both_, a voice said and Jace flinched. _You should have never seen that look, because you should never have been made to kiss. _Jace became incensed. "It didn't seem to me that either of us had a choice in the matter." And again, he wasn't sure if he had said that for her or himself. But Clary responded all the same.

"That's what I don't understand," she said more in frustration than anger now, Jace's shirt was still knotted in her fists. "Why did she make you kiss me? The Queen, I mean." She looked at him as if trying to read his mind. But if she were able to, she would find that the Queen hadn't _made _Jace do anything at all. He had wanted to. Had _been_ wanting to. Had been dreaming about it, and been frustrated that he couldn't. No, the true gift the Queen had given him was the _excuse_ to do it. He could blame the fey, of course. Say that it was her fault that he had had to kiss Clary—that she had _made _him do it—but all the while they would both know that it wasn't. Jace didn't say this though. He didn't say anything. Clary continued. "Why force us to do—that? What pleasure could she possibly have gotten out of it?"

The pleasure was in watching them squirm. The pleasure was in knowing that Jace would always know that _she_ knew how he felt about his sister, be it right or wrong. Jace sighed. How could Clary not realize this? The Seelie Queen had said it right in front of her—called it a boon for him. "You heard what the Queen said," he spoke slowly, looking at her. "She thought she was doing me a favor." _She _did_ do me a favor,_ he amended silently. But there it was. The truth. And Jace wouldn't change it if he could. He would kiss her over and over and over again. Every time. Clary shook her head, her eyes wide with disbelief as she searched his face. She would only find honesty. He really did intend to stop pretending. But now that they were breaching the cusp of the truth, his heart began to pound rapidly.

"It's not true," she finally breathed. She was wringing the shirt in her hands now, and Jace found himself wondering just how much more that shirt could take of her abuse. He shook the thought away and looked at her. Beautiful Clary. Was she really so appalled by him that she refused to see what was real? _Please,_ he wanted to say. _Please don't tell me that what I feel isn't real. _He didn't though.

"It is true," he exhaled, instead, his heart slamming painfully in his chest and his ears buzzing. And then he found himself adding, "How many times do I have to tell you? The Fair Folk don't lie." There it was. He had admitted it. She was a gift to him, and the Queen had known it. But Clary was still shaking her head. Still refusing to believe it. Jace felt a stab to his heart with each shake of her head.

"Then she was wrong." Clary's voice was just a breath, but all the same Jace felt his heart lurch. He could see in her eyes that it wasn't just that she thought the Queen was wrong, but that she wanted desperately for her to be. But why? Why did the Queen have to be wrong? Jace wondered. Because they were related? Jace bit the inside of his cheek, his pulse racing as he suddenly felt hot despite his exposed chest and wet jeans. He had known she may not feel the same. Had realized it the moment he walked out of his bathroom and seen her on the phone. And he knew that he could agree with Clary—that she wanted him to. Claim that he hadn't wanted to kiss her, and pretend it never happened. And she would. She would go on pretending that what had happened in that Court hadn't affected her just as much as it had affected him. But Jace couldn't do it. He couldn't lie to himself anymore. And the fact that she wanted him to made him bitter.

"She wasn't wrong," he said more harshly than he had meant. "She saw the way I looked at you, and you at me, and Simon at you, and she played us like the instruments we are to her." And they had been instruments. That much was true too. But so was what he had said before—and no matter how much she wanted it to not be, didn't make it so. Clary was looking down at the shirt again, and he wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her. Make her look at him. Make her admit what she might be refusing to see. He knew what he had seen in her eyes—_that_ had been the truth. What he felt in her lips and her touch and the pressure of her body against his . . . that couldn't be a lie. It wasn't a lie! Jace refused to believe that.

"I don't look at you."

Jace's heart stopped as he stared at Clary, his eyes widening a fraction. But she wasn't looking at him now, and she had spoken so quietly he wondered if he had heard her right. Had she really just . . . he shook his head. "What?"

Clary glanced up at him and the pain in her emerald eyes was palpable. Pain, not anger. It was like it was hurting her to look at him now, but like she couldn't look away either. "I said, _I don't look at you."_ And then she dropped his shirt back on her lap and looked at it, shook her head, and then looked back up at him. "At least I try not to."

"Why not?" It was out of his mouth before he could stop it. And then his eyes narrowed as he heard her sigh, but he waited for her to answer. Why would she not want to look at him if she had moved on? If she wanted desperately to believe that the Seelie Queen was wrong and that Jace had only kissed her because he didn't have a choice—then why would she act like it was so fucking hard to look at him? She was looking at him now though, and then his skin was on fire like her gaze was burning him. He rubbed his naked arm, but didn't lower his gaze. _Say it._ He wanted to beg her. _Tell me—tell me you love me. Tell me it meant something to you like I know it did. Tell me it doesn't matter that we share blood. _He knew she never would. She had felt something when he kissed her, that much was true and Jace refused to believe otherwise, but whatever it was . . . it must not have been enough.

"Why do you think?" It was all she said, and had it not been already quiet in the room, Jace might have missed it. But he didn't miss it and he knew it would be the closest she ever came to admitting anything. His body began shaking. He took an almost imperceptible step toward her, longing to run to her. But he didn't. He knew how he felt—knew the overbearing truth of it, despite it's repercussions. And he was ready to tell her. To fall down at her feet and swear that he would never love anyone but her. That it wasn't even possible. He didn't. He only just took in her conflicted and tormented emerald eyes. And then it hit him, realization so powerful that it sent his stomach plummeting. But no, she couldn't possibly—not like he loved her. Because if that were the case . . .

"Then _why?" _His voice was shaking, but there was nothing he could do about it. "Why all this with Simon?" His heart hammered. "Why keep pushing me away, not letting me near you—"

"Because it's _impossible."_ Clary threw her hands up, her voice anguished and Jace felt his heart crumble as he heard the finality in her tone. "You know that as well as I do!"

"Because you're my sister," he said flatly, and she nodded miserably without speaking. Jace frowned. So she was pushing him away and seeking comfort in Simon because she didn't think they could ever be together. That the shared blood in their veins was the end of what they might have had. "Possibly," he said, and he suddenly couldn't stop himself, nor could he keep the bitterness out of his tone. "And because of that you've decided your old friend Simon makes a useful distraction?"

"It's not like that," Clary breathed. "I love Simon."

"Like you love Luke," Jace countered. "Like you love your mother." _Not like you love me. You may never admit it, but I know it's true. _It had to be true.

"No," Clary shook her head, her voice both stubborn and wavering. "Don't tell me what I feel."

Jace looked at her, his body feeling like an electrical fence. He watched her lips frown, and her her Idris eyes skirt his. He watched as she begin to wring her hands together. "I don't believe you." he finally breathed. _I _won't_ believe you. I can't. _And he wouldn't let her lie to herself. Not now that they've come this far. He couldn't bear the idea of going back to what they had been forced to do before. Pretending desperately that he wasn't in love with her when he was. He just couldn't. At his words, Clary stood up, so much pain and confusion and confliction in her eyes and written across her face, that it almost made him feel guilty that he wouldn't leave it alone. That he didn't just lie and say that he hadn't wanted to kiss her. But _almost_ wasn't enough. Instead he wanted to take her, to caress her cheek, to kiss her. He wanted to tell her that it would be okay. That they would figure it out. That she was beautiful and that he loved her. But before he could do any of that, she had to admit it to herself. He bit the inside of his cheek and shoved his hands in his still damp pockets as her eyes rested at his naked shoulder.

"Jace." There was so much tenderness and anguish when she said his name. "Why are you doing this to me?"

_Why do you think? _He wanted to shout at her. Instead, he looked at her steadily, still chewing on his cheek. "Because you're lying to me," he said tightly, his hands balling into fists in his pockets. "And you're lying to yourself." He instantly regretted saying it, but he couldn't take it back. He only stared at her. She looked broken, he realized. He had broken her and he had no clue how to put her back together. And then as a single tear slid down her cheek and crashed like a tidal wave around him, she drew her shoulders back.

_"__What do you want me to tell you?"_ She cried out suddenly, more torment and misery in her voice than Jace had ever heard before. His mouth popped open slightly before he clamped it shut and bit down on his cheek. But she didn't let him talk. It was like as if everything she had ever tried keeping in was bursting from her now as she continued, her hands—her whole body—shaking. "The truth?" She spit. "The truth is that I love Simon like I should love you, and I wish he was my brother and you weren't, but I can't do anything about that and _neither can you!" _ Her chest was heaving with each breath she took, but Jace could only just stare at her. He couldn't respond now even if he had wanted to. Clary crossed her arms, her emeralds blazing in her watery eyes. "Or do you have some ideas, since your so goddamn smart?" Jace exhaled, her words playing in his head as if on repeat. She wished Simon was her brother, not him. He had wanted her to admit it but he had never really thought she would. And now the air hung open in front of them. Slowly Jace could feel the elation—the unadulterated joy replacing the initial shock of her words. He stared at her in astonishment. She wanted him. She wanted him, not as a brother. How he had always wanted to hear her say that. Clary blinked, her eyes wide with horror at her outburst. "Jace," she breathed suddenly, his name on her lips like heaven. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"No." And then he was moving. Unsteady and terrified and elated and in love. He may have tripped, he couldn't remember. But what he didn't want—what he couldn't stand to hear—was for her to apologize for finally telling him the truth. He didn't want her to be sorry. In fact, "You're not sorry," he said. And then he was in front of her. He took her face in his hands and she didn't pull away. Her green eyes—those Idris eyes that were his only home—the only place he ever wished to be—they looked up at him. They asked to be held. Her full lips parted slightly, asking to be kissed. "Don't be sorry," he breathed, nearly begged, his voice rough. She was so beautiful. So very very beautiful. He caressed her jaw with his thumb while he tried to find the right words. How could he possibly explain everything he felt and had kept hidden. But it went deeper than that. And if she was sorry for how she felt, then what did it mean for him? He had come out here with the intent of telling her the truth, and now he would. He would be as honest as he could. "You don't understand," he said slowly. She stepped into him. Had she meant to do that? His heart leapt, his adrenaline pulsing. _Focus,_ he told himself. _Tell her. Tell her the truth—tell her everything. _His hands slid tenderly down to her neck and he could feel her pulse beating like a hummingbird against them. "I've never felt this way about anyone," he breathed. "I didn't think I could. I thought—the way I grew up—my father—"

"To love is to destroy." She said quietly, casting her eyes down. "I remember."

Jace quickly ducked his head down to recapture her eyes with his, at the same time that he lifted her chin gently. They met halfway. "I thought that part of my heart was broken." Jace bit on the inside of his cheek as soon as the words left his mouth. That had not been what he had intended to say, and the raw truth of it rocked him. He swallowed. "Forever," he exhaled. He had thought his heart was destined to be broken forever. He was looking at her intently now, his grip on her face both gentle and hard. He had thought his heart would never be mended. Never be used again—unable to love. Always cracked. Always broken. And then there was Clary. When she had walked through the door in Pandemonium, everything changed. _He_ had changed. Her love didn't destroy him, it healed him. He took a breath. "But you—"

"Jace," she breathed, cutting him off as she folded her hands over his and entwining their fingers. "Don't." Her eyes were sad, and it cut him. "It's pointless."

"That's not true," he insisted desperately, squeezing her fingers. He brought her hand to his chest, resting it over his heart. She didn't pull away. She only stared at their joined fingers in front of her. Slowly, he lowered his other arm to her waist and pulled her against him and her free hand grazed his exposed side. Her warm fingers against his bare skin were sending bolts shooting through him—sending his heart racing like lightning. His voice was hitched and gruff. "If we both feel the same way—"

Clary shook her head. "It doesn't matter what we feel," she said miserably. But she was wrong. She had to be wrong. Who cares what anyone else thought? Jace sure the fuck didn't. He only wanted her—Clary. Nothing else mattered. She looked up at him just as he lowered his head to look down at him. Their lips were so close. He could kiss away her worries and her fears. Show her how right this all was. It would be so easy. "Where would we go to be together?" she breathed, her eyes pleading and Jace felt his stomach twist. "How could we live?"

And then he knew. She wouldn't leave her mom or Luke or even the mundane, so what else was there to do? Her slender fingers were drawing tentative circles along his back now, making it hard to think. He pressed his forehead against hers, breathing her in. "We could keep it secret."

She closed her eyes. "People would find out," she whispered, and Jace lifted his head so he could see her better. Why was she trying to make it harder than it needed to be? So they find out! Who cares? As long as he was with her and she with him—as long as they were both happy—then screw anyone else who said otherwise. Jace would just beat the ever-loving shit out of them. Besides, people would only find out if they got sloppy. And that was an area Jace was really good at _not _being. As if knowing what he was thinking, Clary shook her head, her eye peaking open at him. "I don't want to lie to my family. Do you?"

Jace bit on the inside of his cheek. He knew she was talking about Maryse and Robert, and quite frankly, he really didn't care. Maryse had thrown him out of the Institute and then offered him up to the sadistic Inquisitor without so much as a warning. "What family?" His tone was harsh. "The Lightwoods hate me anyway." He felt her hand slide up his back and then tighten as if she was trying to reassure him.

"No they don't," she said, meeting his eyes. But then she shook her head, a frown tugging at her lips. "And I could never tell Luke. And my mother, what if she woke up, what would we _say _to her?" Her eyes pleaded for an answer, but Jace couldn't give her one. Instead, he hugged her tighter, their bodies crushing their hands. They would think of something. It was their parents fault anyway. They—Clary and him—were innocent bystanders. Collateral damage. And it wasn't fair. Why should they be miserable just because their parent's couldn't get their shit together? Clary sighed, breathing into his chest and sending goosebumps running through him. "This, what we want, it would be sickening to everyone we care—"

_"__Sickening?"_ The word was like a slap and Jace rocked backward, away from Clary, letting her go as his heart plummeted. He shook his head. "What we feel—what I feel—it's sickening to you?" Jace wanted to scream—to beg her to take it back. To say that it wasn't so. But she only just looked at him with those eyes of hers as she began to wring her hands together. She took a breath, but but he didn't want to hear whatever it was she was going to say. He could see it in her eyes. That didn't stop her, however.

"Maybe," she said, her voice a pained whisper. "I don't know." And Jace felt his heart crumble. How many times could it break, he wondered numbly. How many times could he sweep it up and try to glue it back together before he just gave up? He took another step back from her and it physically pained him to do so. But that word, that one word, kept ringing through his head like a nightmare. Suddenly he was angry. She had wanted to kiss him—had desired it. She had told him that she tried not to look at him—that she wished Simon was her brother, and not him. And he had told her the truth of what he feels. He had laid it all out there for her . . . and it had _sickened_ her. All of it.

"Then you should have said that to begin with," Jace spit, feeling betrayed. Her eyes went wide and he could see the pain in them. No. She wasn't allowed to hurt. _He _was hurting. _He _was the one in pain. She took a step toward him, and he jerked back as he slammed down on his mental block that separated his emotions from his facial features. He wouldn't let her see him hurting. He wouldn't give that to her. His face was a blank slate.

"Jace," she begged.

"I'm sorry I said anything, then." he said cutting her off, and he could hear how detached he sounded. Like they were in a business meeting. _Good,_ he thought bitterly. But he didn't leave it there, because he never could just stop when it came to her. He crossed his arms. "I won't be kissing you again. You can count on that." And then he spun away from her and headed toward the only escape he could, snatching a towel that sat on his dresser as he did. Behind him, he could hear Clary's hitched breathing.

"But—Jace, what are you doing?" She asked.

Jace turned around to look at her, his brow lifting as if to suggest the ridiculousness of her question. He held up the towel pointedly. "Finishing my shower." And then he looked back at the bathroom before adding in an almost bored sort of voice, "And if you've made me run through all the hot water, I'll be very annoyed." He said nothing else as he stepped into the bathroom and then kicked the door shut hard behind him. With her no longer in sight, Jace was free to crumble. It's what normal people would do in this situation, wasn't it? But Jace wasn't normal and neither was this situation. Now he was just pissed. And a heartbroken and pissed off Jace was never a good thing. Pulling the shower curtain aside roughly, he stripped and got in.

The water was still hot. He knew it would be, he had only said otherwise to irritate Clary. Jace quickly washed his hair and body, but when he was done rinsing off, he had no desire to get out. Instead, he stood under the cascading water and let it coat him. Reaching forward, he turned the water to scalding—making it as hot as he could bear it. He could still feel Clary's warm fingers on his side and he turned, trying desperately to wash it away. And then he filled his mouth with water, rinsing it out—rinsing her kiss away. He spit. _Sickening. _The word cracked through his head like a bullet and he bit the inside of his cheek. His stomach somersaulted, his heart pounding, the more he thought about it. He had thought—had hoped . . . it didn't matter. None of it did. Or maybe it mattered too much, and that was the problem. Leaning forward, he pressed his palms flat against the wall and lowered his head into the shower stream. Hair and water ran into his eyes, but he didn't care. He stayed like this for some time. When he finally got out, he wrapped his towel around his waist and then realized that he had not grabbed a change of clothing. His pulse began to race at the idea of Clary still being in his room and seeing him in just a towel. Would that sicken her too, he wondered bitterly. _Oh no, best not see you're brother in a towel—might make you puke. _Running his fingers through his sopping hair, he pulled open the door, his eyes defiant, daring her to say something. She said nothing. She was asleep. On his bed.

Jace's heart hammered as he stared at her, not caring that he was dripping all over the wood floor. She was curled up, but he could see his shirt wrapped in her fingers, holding to it like it were a stuffed animal. Her red curls fanned out on his white pillow. She looked beautiful. Peaceful. His adrenaline began to pulse. _Stop looking at her—she's your sister._ He reminded himself. _Just think of the horror if she were to wake to her brother standing naked in the middle of the room and staring at her. Might creep her out—sicken her. _Jace frowned. In all fairness, he was pretty sure one didn't have to be related to be considered creepy for staring at a sleeping girl while standing naked in the middle of the room. And in his defense, he at least had a towel covering himself. And also, this was him . . . many women would love to find him staring at them while he was naked. That was just a fact. He sighed. A fact for everyone but Clary. Jace was careful to move silently as he retrieved some boxers, a pair of jeans, and a dark grey sweater before disappearing back into the bathroom to get dressed. When he was done, he stood uncertainly in the middle of his room and looked down at Clary. He could wake her, but he knew she was exhausted. His anger with her didn't take away how much he loved her, and cared for her. She needed to sleep. And then he thought of Max sleeping in the foyer and he slipped out of his room, shutting the door silently behind him.

It didn't take him long to find Max still asleep on the small couch. He had rolled over to his side and was snoring softly. Reaching forward, he snatched his little brothers glasses off the table and tucked them into his pocket. Bending down, Jace slid his hands gently under Max and lifted him in his arms before heading toward the boy's room. Max rustled only slightly but didn't wake as they walked. It wasn't until they reached his bedroom and Jace pushed open the door that he saw Max was looking up at him. The boy said nothing though, as he laid him on his bed. Pulling out the glasses, he set them on his nightstand. "Goodnight, kiddo," he said as he turned to leave. Max was like Jace when it came to his room—completely neat and everything put away. It wasn't like a nine year old to be so tidy, and it was completely opposite of his actual siblings. He guessed it had something to do with the boy's hero-worship of him, and his desire to be like him.

"Jace?"

Jace stopped and looked back at Max. He could see the boy's bright eyes gleaming in the little amount of light that showed through the door. His dark hair was matted over his eyes, and he didn't raise his head to look at him. Jace took a step back toward him.

"What's up?" Jace asked softly.

Max looked at him briefly before struggling to sit up. "Are—are you supposed to be back here? At the Institute, I mean." Jace chewed on the inside of his cheek as irritation flooded him. How much had Maryse told Max about him? Did they tell him he was a criminal and not to be trusted? He was too young to be burdened with those kinds of things. When Jace continued to say nothing, Max begin to fidget with his blankets. "I'm not going to tell them," he said, looking down. And Jace smiled, his affection for the boy burning brightly. Though he hadn't been worried in the least about that.

"Thanks," Jace said, "but you shouldn't have to keep secrets from your parent's."

"Yeah, well, they shouldn't have let you go with the Inquisitor," Max said stubbornly. "I don't like her."

Jace laughed softly. "Me either, kiddo."

"Are you coming back?" Max blurted then, his eyes wide as he looked at Jace. Jace sighed, looking at his adopted kid brother. He was so good. So innocent. And way too young to be worrying about him. Making a split decision, Jace walked silently back to Max's bed and took a seat on it's edge. Max watched Jace's every movement—studied them. "It's not the same without you here," Max continued.

"I definitely miss it. I wish I _could_ come back, but it's not that simple," Jace said.

"I heard you were supposed to be in prison," Max said. "That some warlock was watching you." And then the boy looked around his room curiously, as if expecting the warlock to appear out of nowhere. His raised a brow. "He's not doing a very good job," he said flatly.

Jace laughed. "No, he's not." And then he ruffled Max's hair. "But be grateful for that, or I wouldn't be here."

"But you _should_ be here!" Max said suddenly, and then his eyes widened, surprised with himself for yelling out. Jace grinned at him.

"I know," he said. "But I can't right now. Hopefully, that changes though because I really miss you, Max."

"I miss you too, Jace." Max said, and Jace could see the boy's cheeks flushing. But then his eyes turned serious as he looked at his older brother. "I don't believe it, you know."

"Don't believe what?" Jace asked.

"What I've heard the Inquisitor saying about you." Max balled his hands into fists. "She's wrong."

Jace raised a brow, his heart racing though he was careful not to show the discord he felt. Especially not in front of Max. "And what's that?"

"That—that your in cahoots with you-know-who." Max said, his voice quiet like he feared being overheard. Jace, on the other hand, was trying not to laugh._You-know-who? _

"Have you been watching _Harry Potter_ again?" Jace asked with a grin. "And did she really say 'cahoots?' She looks like the type who would say 'cahoots,' I have to say. Right after she eats a stew made up of little Shadowhunter boys."

Max shivered. "Now that I could believe, too." And then he smiled reluctantly. "And no, she didn't really say 'cahoots.'" Jace noticed he didn't answer the question about _Harry Potter_, though he would bet all his money that he had. _You-Know-Who—He who must not be named—_They were what they called the bad guy in the movie. So would that make his father the bad guy of _this_ story? His father _was _the bad guy, wasn't he? Jace sighed.

"Valentine," Jace said his father's name out loud. "And no, I'm not in _cahoots_ with him" Max nodded but didn't reply. "You should get some sleep, kiddo. And don't forget, I wasn't here." Jace got to his feet as the boy laid his head back against his pillow. He heard him mutter something about not having seen him, and Jace smiled. He had just reached the door again when he heard Max call out his name once more. When Jace turned around, he saw the boy watching him again.

"When you come back, can you bring your sister with you? Clary?" he asked, and Jace's heart jackhammered. He knew Clary? When could Max have possibly met—he bit the inside of his cheek, watching his little brother, but unable to answer. Seeming to sense this, Max smiled. "She showed me how to read my book," he explained. "I really like her."

"Yeah . . ." Jace said quietly. "Me too. Get some sleep."

His pulse didn't slow the whole way back to his room, and when he walked in and saw the light from the moon shining in and casting Clary in a glow on his bed, it only sent his heart rate spiking. Walking to his closet, he pulled out a light quilt and used it to blanket her. She stirred, but didn't wake. When she rolled over, a strand of hair crossed her face and Jace began reaching forward to remove it when he stopped himself, his fingers itching. Slowly, he lowered his hand. She was his sister. Moving away from the bed, from her, he went to his dresser and instead plucked the broken Portal piece out of his top drawer. It hadn't changed. He could still see the blue sky and the green trees that matched Clary's eye color. He took a seat in a nearby chair and watched her, unable to look away as he spun the mirror in his hands. She was his sister—not by choice—it would never be his choice—but that didn't change anything. And the idea of trying to change it sickened her. So that left two possibilities. He could either accept that he was her brother, and she his sister, and deny what he felt. He closed his eyes. Could he do that? Could he push it down and never speak of it again? Watch as she moved on and met other guys? Or he could try to hate her. He sliced his eyes to her sleeping frame. Hating her or her hating him would make it admittedly easier to deny his feelings for her. But he knew, even as he thought it, that he couldn't never hate her. No matter how much he tried. Jace sat there for some time, lost in thought and torn between looking at the Portal and looking at her. It was a little time before she began to move. And then his heart leapt as she gasped. It was hard for him to not run to her, but he managed it. He had decided—she would be his sister. Nothing more. Just his sister. And if he said it enough times, maybe he'd even believe it. When she sat up, Jace noticed that she had his shirt still clutched to her. When her Idris eyes met his, he was quick to wipe any emotion from his face as he turned the Portal in his hands.

"Did you sleep well?" He asked, testing his tone. Surely a brother could be concerned for the sleeping habits of his sister, right?

Clary nodded, her eyes not leaving his face. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

Jace shrugged and decided to answer truthfully. "I thought you could use the rest," he said. And then he cocked his head at her. "Besides, you were sleeping like the dead. You even drooled." He pointed at the shirt clutched in her hands. "On my shirt." He wasn't sure why he had said it. It wasn't true. But as her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and her hand flew to her mouth, he suddenly didn't care.

"Sorry," she exhaled, and Jace grinned. Though it felt crueler than he meant it to be. And when he spoke, it was with bored amusement.

"It's not often you get to see someone drool," he said, raising a brow with a smirk. He was being mean. He knew he was being mean. But wasn't that what big brothers were supposed to be toward their sisters?" "Especially with such abandon. Mouth wide open and everything."

"Oh, shut up," she snapped and then turned away from him. He felt his heart lurch at upsetting her, and decided to not continue. He watched as her long slender fingers felt along his bed and then blinked in the glow of her phone coming to life. Was she really going to call the mundane now, with him in the room? But then he heard a voice asking if it mattered if she did. He was her brother after all, so he shouldn't be jealous of the stupid little rat boy. "It's three in the morning," she said in surprise, and Jace rolled his eyes. Yeah, he could have told her that without the need to look at her phone. But then, what good were those old fashioned machines that plug in next to the bed and glow the time when you could just stare at your phone instead? "Do you think Simon's all right?" she asked suddenly, and Jace felt his eyebrows leave his forehead. Was she kidding? Was she really asking him about the mundane while trying to play it off like she was checking the time? Insulting. After everything that had happened. After the kiss and admitting how he felt, that she would act like this—act like nothing even—_she's your sister, _he cut himself off cautiously. Jace took a steadying breath. This was going to be harder than he thought. But then, he had never thought it was going to be easy. And then he tried to analyze the question the way he supposed a brother should.

He shrugged. "I think he's weird, actually," Jace said. "Though that has little to do with the time." Clary stared at him, a range of conflicted emotions crossing her face before her full lips pulled into a thin line. Jace said nothing. Clary took a deep breath and then got up at the same time as she shoved the phone into her pocket.

"I'm going to change." she said, and then didn't wait for a reply as she crossed his room and disappeared into the bathroom. Jace listened as the faucet came on and then to the silence that followed it shutting off. He stared down at the mirror in his hands, and then stared more intently at it. He knew he wouldn't see anything, because he never did. Only bits of sky, rolling green hills, a cobbled walkway . . . never anything else. He could feel his mood darken the harder he stared. It didn't take long for Clary to come out. He looked up at her, his adrenaline jackhammering at the sight of her in his shirt at the same time that a voice reminded him again for the hundredth time, that she was his sister. She said nothing as she approached him. He swallowed. She leaned against the back of the chair next to him. He bit the inside of his cheek. "What is that?" she asked. Jace looked down at the broken Portal before turning it so that she could see it. He heard her soft intake of breath. "I didn't know you kept that," she breathed. "That piece of the Portal."

"It's why I wanted to come here," he said, realizing how pathetic that might sound. "To get this." He realized that no one would ever be able to understand his feelings for his father, but that didn't change the fact that they were there. He stared at the mirror again and shrugged. "I keep thinking maybe I'll see my father in a reflection. Figure out what he's up to." He looked up at Clary, who was sitting lightly on the arm of the chair now. She was so close to him and his heart pulsed as it always would. He doubted that would ever change, no matter how much he made himself think of her as his sister. But in this moment, he was also grateful. It was so much easier talking to her about their father than it was anyone else.

"But he's not there, is he? I thought he was somewhere here. In the city." Clary asked frowning. It was strange how they could pretend like nothing had happened between each other. If it weren't for the tension between them, Jace might have thought he imagined it all. Jace shook his head in both answer to her and as a response to their tension. They were doing exactly what he had hoped he wouldn't have to do. Pretend. But it was also the only way he could be with Clary. By pretending. He stared down at the Portal again, not wanting to think about it. You know it's bad when you'd rather think of your murderous psychotic father, than the sister you're in love with.

"Magnus has been looking for him and he doesn't think so," he said, leaning his head back on the chair and accidentally bumping Clary's arm. His stomach flipped as she sat up quickly, moving her arm out of the way. Her eyes were surprised when they looked at him.

"Magnus has been looking at him?" She asked, her green eyes flashing beautifully. Jace suddenly felt exhausted looking at her. "I didn't know that," she continued. "How—"

"Magnus didn't get to be High Warlock for nothing," Jace cut her off, and looked back down a the Portal. There was a breeze in Idris right now. "His power extends through the city and beyond. He can sense what's out there, to an extent."

At this Clary snorted and Jace raised a tired brow. "He can feel disturbances in the Force?"

Was she really making a joke of this? Jace turned in his chair so that he was looking at her. Even sitting on the arm, she still met him at eye level, her emerald eyes slowly growing serious as she looked at his face. "I'm not joking," he said, needing her to understand. "After that warlock was killed down in TriBeCa, he started looking into it. When I went to stay with him, he asked me for something of my father's to make the tracking easier." Jace looked down at his naked finger where his family ring usually sat. Okay, maybe Magnus hadn't so much asked as Jace had offered it when he learned what he was doing. He thought back that morning in Magnus's kitchen. He sighed. "I gave him the Morgenstern ring. He said he'd let me know if he senses Valentine anywhere in the city, but so far he hasn't."

Clary rubbed her temples. "Maybe he just wanted your ring," she said flatly, and he caught her cast a glance down at his fingers as well. "He sure wears a lot of jewelry."

Jace bit the inside of his cheek. "He can have it," he said, his voice tighter than he meant it to be. That ring was a lie. It had been a false identity for him—an 'M' easily made into a 'W' in order to fool him and everyone else—and as far as Jace was concerned Magnus could chuck it off the Brooklyn Bridge when he was done with it. "It's worthless to me."

"Hey," Clary said in both alarm and concern, though her voice never really raised. "Easy there." Jace looked at her confused and then he felt her tugging at the Portal and looked down to see the blood dripping from his hands. He hadn't even realized he was gripping it so tight. He didn't fight her, letting it go easily. He felt his pulse racing with anger. Anger towards his father. He watched without saying a word as she got up and slipped the Portal into one of his jackets that hung on the wall. When she returned, she took his hand and examined it. He only watched her, biting the inside of his cheek, as she turned his bleeding hand over. A sister would be concerned if her brother was bleeding, right? Maybe he would need to bleed more often. "Maybe we should get you back to Magnus." Though her voice was gentle, she let go of his hand as if it had burned her. _It probably did,_ he thought dryly. "Alec's been there a long time—"

"I doubt he minds, somehow," Jace cut her off. His _parabatai _was probably perfectly happy with where he was at the moment. At least somebody was. Somebody should be allowed happiness. And then he was on his feet. He didn't want to think about Alec and Magnus anymore. He didn't think he could handle their happiness when he was so bitter. Was that selfishness, he wondered. _Of course it's selfishness, _he told himself. _Selfishness in it's finest. Good job. _Jace bit the inside of his cheek, clearing his thoughts as he reached for his stele that he had left on the nightstand. He stared at Clary briefly before shaking his head and pressing the stele against his palm, drawing an _iratze _on his skin, and then watched as the cut knitted together. He had thought briefly about asking Clary to draw the Mark on him, but that would be a very bad idea. And then he was involuntarily thinking back to the Silent City, when Alec and Clary had both wanted to heal him. He didn't remember much of that night, but that was one of the things that he _did _remember. He also remembered how the cell doors seemed to be missing. He frowned and looked at Clary. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you," he said suddenly.

"And what's that?" She had said it casually, but the look in her eyes were anything but. She was nervous. _Don't worry, _he thought bitterly_. I make it a point to only confess my love to my sister after making out with her, once a year. You now have another three hundred and sixty-four days of brother-free kissing. But when that time is up, you'd best watch out—stop! _He was never going to get used to this. Not ever. He took a breath.

"When you got me out of that cell in the Silent City, how did you do it?" he asked. "How did you unlock the door?"

"Oh," Clary looked relieved as she brought him his jacket. "I just used a regular Opening rune, and—"

And what, Jace didn't find out as the loud chiming of the Institute doorbell reverberated through his bedroom and down the halls. Clary, startled by the sound, grabbed at her phone in her pocket. She just couldn't wait to talk to the stupid mundane. Jace shook his head as, realizing it wasn't what she thought it was, Clary looked around. But unless she had lived here and heard it before, it wasn't likely that she would ever figure it out. The problem was, who rung it? Shadowhunters could come and go as they pleased. They didn't need to ring to gain entry. And the place was glamoured against mundanes.

"That's the Institute's doorbell," he said in way of explanation as he frowned and took his jacket out of her hands. "Come on." He didn't wait for her as he left his room and made his way toward the elevator. They hadn't gotten far when Izzy came storming out of her own room in a pink bathrobe and a pink sleeping mask on top of her head. She looked like a pink marshmallow.

"It's three in the morning!" she said accusingly and Jace raised a brow. The fact that he and Clary had come out of his room together, she doesn't blink an eye at. Someone rings the doorbell and it must be there fault? "Whose ringing the doorbell at three in the morning?"

"Maybe it's the Inquisitor," Clary said, nearly running to keep pace beside Jace and Iz. Jace frowned but then dismissed the idea.

"She could get in on her own," he said. "Any Shadowhunter could. The Institute is only closed to mundanes and Downworlders."

_Simon— _"Simon!" Clary said at the same time that Jace had thought it. Only she sounded a lot more happy about it than he did. "It must be him," she insisted as if someone had disagreed with her. _Of course its him, _Jace thought irritably. _Who else would it be?_ But it was Izzy who responded to this.

"Oh, for goodness' sake," she said yawning. "Is he really waking us up at this ungodly hour just to prove his love to you or something? Couldn't he have just _called?"_ And then her eyes met Jace's and she frowned. It was strange, knowing that Izzy knew how he felt. Stranger still to know that she wasn't saying anything about it. This was Isabelle—the girl who could rarely ever keep her mouth shut. She turned to Clary looking overly annoyed now. "Mundane men are such twits." Jace hid a smile while Clary said nothing. They stepped through the foyer and Jace saw Clary looking to the couch Max had been laying on. He was suddenly reminded of how Max had asked for Clary to come back with him sometime. He took a breath just as they reached the elevator and Izzy pressed the button. "There," she said turning and pressing her back against the gate. "Elevators on it's way."

Jace listened as the elevator grinded it's way upward and then found himself looking at Clary. She looked anxious and excited and . . . and beautiful. He wondered if she would ever look like that for him. No, of course she wouldn't. He was her brother and anything else would be disgusting. His heart began to hammer irritably and he found himself saying, "I can't believe he didn't have the dignity and presence of mind just to get drunk and pass out in some gutter." Isabelle raised a brow at him, and Jace shrugged and smirked. "I must say, I'm disappointed in the little fellow."

Isabelle rolled her her eyes and then turned to Clary, who was watching the elevator like a hawk. She was hugging herself and a shiver passed through her. Jace had to cross his own arms to keep from reaching for her at the same time that Izzy frowned. "It _is _cold in here," she said turning and grabbing one of her jackets. "Here, put this on."

Jace tried not to watch as Clary slipped her arms into the coat, which was too long on her. He tried not to notice how the blue jacket matched her fiery curls as she pushed the hood back. He failed. She looked up at him just as the elevator arrived and then turned and stepped inside without a word. Jace followed her inside. Izzy on the other side just stood there looking at Clary with confusion. Jace wasn't sure why. "What are you doing?" she asked Clary and Jace raised a brow.

"It's Simon down there," Clary said in response. "I know it is."

Isabelle looked at Jace, and he could see what was confusing her. She thought that maybe she would go down there and send Simon away. Tell him to come back some other time. Maybe she had thought that Jace and Clary would want to have a mundane-free night. She couldn't be more wrong. "But—"

Jace sighed overly loud. "Come on," he said holding the door for her. There was no point in going into how Clary had been pining for Simon since she got here. Checking her phone every five seconds. Well, not every five seconds, he thought bitterly. She took a break to tell Jace he sickened her. As he watched Isabelle get in, he saw from his peripheral that Clary was looking at him. He couldn't bring himself to look back. It was too hard. Instead, he turned and looked at the mirror. He could see the hardness in his eyes and he mentally wiped it away, instead whistling like he didn't have a care in the world. He wasn't sure why he had to pretend that he didn't care that the mundane was here, though. Surely as her _brother_ he was allowed to not like someone she was seeing. Jace's stomach flipped and his whistling became faster. He wondered what she would do if he adamantly and openly disapproved of the mundane. Probably hit him. When the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened, Clary didn't wait. Jace grumbled as he was shoved aside in her haste to get the stupid rat boy. He watched, his heart dropping as she ran forward, her red curls bouncing, and began tugging desperately on the locks.

"Sorry, Jace." Isabelle whispered. She took his hand and squeezed, but he said nothing. Jace took a deep breath and walked after Clary just as she got the locks open and the bell chimed again. Reaching forward, he covered her warm hand with his, his heart pounding from the contact, as he helped her pull open the door. How many moments like that would he have to steal, he wondered. And then he bit the inside of his cheek as he realized that that's what he would be reduced to. Stealing glances and touches just to be close to her while she moved on without him. _Don't think about that,_ he told himself, tugging the door harder to get it open. It was difficult with Clary in the way, but he managed. Once it was open—_Oh fuck. _

This—this isn't what he wanted.

He never wanted this.

Without thinking, he reached forward and grabbed Clary's arm as Raphael's eyes met his. In his arms he held Simon. Simon dead. Simon covered in blood. He couldn't see Clary's face, but she was unmoving. She just stood there. The moments ticked by and she only just stood there.

And then she screamed.

It was a scream like Jace had never heard before. It reverberated to his very core—chilled him and angered him. He wanted to kill the vampire in front of him. Rip him to shreds for causing Clary such agonizing pain. But he couldn't. Clary's knees gave out and Jace wrapped his other arm around her keep her standing, pulling her against him. His heart was slamming with rage, but his grip on her was tender. "Don't look," he breathed miserably, wanting nothing more than to shield her from this. "For God's sake, don't look." He turned her toward him, trying to block her view, but she pushed his arm away, determined to look. Why? He was vaguely aware that her fist was knotted in his shirt as she turned to look at Raphael. She was steadier on her feet now, but Jace kept ahold of her arm just in case. Clary's face was white in the candlelight, though he was sure that the candles had nothing to do with it. It was Isabelle who finally moved. Jace could see her from the corner of his eye as she whipped a candelabra from the side of the door and pointed it at Raphael's heart.

_"__What have you done to Simon?" _Her voice rang out clear and authoritative as she stared steadily at the vampire holding the dead mundane—Simon. Jace bit the inside of his cheek. _Dear God, not this—I never wanted him dead. Not really._ His grip involuntarily tightened on Clary and he wondered for one wild moment who was holding up who. He shook his head as he felt the tugging on his shirt—Clary. He needed to be there for Clary. He swallowed. She needed a brother. His heart slammed painfully. She needed a brother. He kept repeating it in his head just as Raphael spoke.

_"__El no es muerto."_

The vampire's voice was emotionless, and even though he heard the words, it took Jace a second to comprehend them. And then his eyes narrowed as the vampire set Simon slowly and gently on the ground. _He's not dead. _Jace looked at the gap in the mundanes throat, and then lifted a brow to the vampire. But it was Clary who spoke, her grip loosening on his shirt. "Did you say—"

"He isn't dead," Jace said, and then tightened his grip on her. She was staring hard at the vampire and the last thing he wanted was her trying to attack him. "He's not dead."

And then Clary jerked away from him, her grip on his sweater turning into a shove against his chest as she flung herself forward and onto her knees next to Simon. Jace didn't try to stop her. He only watched as she touched Simon tenderly, trying desperately to devoid himself of emotions and failing miserably. Clary didn't seem to care that she was coating herself with the mundanes blood as she scooted around to place his head in her lap. Jace was suddenly reminded of waking up in the Silent City. She had held him the same way. She had caressed his face. She touched Simon's face now. Not caressingly as she had done to him, but as if noticing things wrong. Jace took a breath, unable to watch the intimate scene and looked instead at Raphael who watched with bored amusement. Jace felt his eyes turn hard as Clary whispered something to Simon.

"He can't hear you," Raphael said flatly. "He's dying."

Clary snapped her head up. "But you said—"

"I said he was not dead yet," the vampire cut her off and Jace clenched his fists. "But in a few minutes—ten, perhaps—his heart will slow and stop." And then he looked up at Jace, his black eyes meeting hard golden ones. "Already he is beyond seeing or hearing anything."

Jace bit the inside of his cheek and looked down at Clary. When Simon did die, would she let him pull her away? Already he was feeling a sense of guilt and he knew there was nothing he could do about it. Clary was clutching Simon tightly. "We have to get him to a hospital—or call Magnus." She said desperately, looking up at Jace with pleading eyes. Jace felt his pulse race. He wanted nothing more than to comfort her, but for once he didn't know how. _She needs a brother, _he reminded himself. But he didn't know how to be a brother. Not to her. But he had to try, didn't he? He owed her this.

"They can't do him any good." It was Raphael who spoke. "You don't understand."

At this, Jace looked up at the vampire. He could feel the anger coursing through him. Why bring the mundane here if there was nothing they could do to heal him? Why cause Clary that torment? When he spoke, he could hear his voice was a razor edged feather. "No," he said, his eyes boring into Raphael's. "We don't. And perhaps you should explain yourself. Because otherwise I'm going to assume you're a rogue vampire and cut your heart out. Like I should have done last time we met." Jace wasn't completely sure that there was anything the vampire could say that would keep him from cutting out his heart anyway. Raphael smiled however, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"You swore not to harm me, Shadowhunter. Have you forgotten?" he said, and this time it was Jace's turn to smile. But his smile was deadly.

"I never actually finished the oath," he reminded the vampire.

"And I never started," Isabelle added, stepping forward with the candelabra. But Raphael didn't look at her. He was watching Jace with a nervousness in his eyes now. It was the most emotion the vampire had shown since arriving here with a dying Simon in his arms. Jace stared back steadily, deciding which way would be best to cut the heart from the demon.

The vampire took a breath that Jace knew was unnecessary. More for show than anything else. "I remember that night you broke into the Dumort looking for your friend," he said gesturing at the mundane. "It is why I brought him here when I found him in the hotel, instead of letting the others drink him to death." He looked down at Simon speculatively before looking back up at Jace, who had crossed his arms to keep himself from throttling the vampire. "You see," Raphael continued, "he broke in, without permission, and therefore was fair game for us. But I kept him alive, knowing he was yours." And then the vampire shook his head. "I have no wish for a war with the Nephilim."

"He _broke in?"_ Clary said before Jace could respond. He looked down at her and saw that she was tenderly moving the mundane's hair out of his face. It was then that Jace realized that Simon was missing his glasses. "Simon would never do anything that stupid and crazy," she whispered, running her hand along his forehead. Jace had to look away.

"But he did," Raphael said and Jace saw his lips quirk up slightly. "Because he was afraid he was becoming one of us, and he wanted to know if the process could be reversed." Jace and Clary both looked at the vampire now in shock. Isabelle looked at all three of them confused as the vampire continued. "You might remember that when he was in the form of a rat, and you came to fetch him from us, he bit me."

"Very enterprising of him," Jace said, though his stomach was twisting as he thought back to that night. "I approved."

The vampire lifted a brow with amusement. "Perhaps," he said. "In any case, he took some of my blood into his mouth when he did it." And Jace blanched, his head whipping down to the mundane in Clary's arms. His first instinct was to jerk her away as Raphael's words played in his head. _Not dead yet. _Yet. He felt sick. When he raised his eyes back to the vampire, he saw a smile playing on it's lips. "You know," said Raphael, "that is how we pass our powers to each other. Through blood."

Jace wanted to hit something. _Son of a bitch! _ This wasn't what he wanted either. He looked back down at Simon laying motionless on the ground and then up at Isabelle, who looked just as startled and angry as he probably did. He couldn't bring himself to look at Clary now. But he could hear her intake of breath. "He thought he as turning into one of you," she whispered, her voice pained and his heart cracking. "He went to the hotel to see if it was true."

"Yes," Raphael nodded. And then Jace wanted to hit the mundane. He wanted to scream at him for being so stupid. Didn't he think of Clary? Or at the very least, what would possibly happen to him once he was there? Of course not! Jace bit down hard on his anger. _You selfish little prick— _"The pity of it," Raphael continued, "is that the effects of my blood would probably have faded over time had he done nothing. But now—" He gestured at Simon, and Jace knew what it meant but he couldn't bring himself to say it anymore than the vampire seemed to be able to.

But Isabelle could. And she did. "Now what?" she demanded. "Now he'll die?"

Raphael nodded and Clary whimpered. "And rise again. Now he will be a vampire."

_"__What?" _Isabelle gasped, her eyes going wide as she dropped the candelabra. Jace's hand snapped forward and caught it reflexively before it hit the ground. He hadn't even really realized he had done it until he was holding it. He turned to the vampire, his eyes dark as he tried to gauge Raphael's expression. This couldn't be true. And then he looked down at Clary, who was hugging Simon tightly to her and his heart constricted.

"You're lying," he said, his eyes snapping back up to the vampire.

Raphael shrugged. "Wait and see," he said indifferently. "He will die and rise as one of the Night Children. That is also why I came. Simon is one of mine now." Jace stared at him, his mouth popping open slightly. Slowly, he brought his lips together, a scowl replacing his initial shock. But the vampire was unfazed. He had no emotion whatsoever and Jace realized he hadn't come to gloat. He thought back to seeing him in the Institute—the dead Downworlders and the suspicion on the Night Children—and realization smacked into Jace like a freight train. This was a sign of good faith and nothing else. He bit the inside of his cheek, unable to speak.

"There is nothing that can be done?" Isabelle asked. "No way to reverse it?" Jace could hear the panic in her tone and remembered how she had cried when the mundane had turned into a rat. He also remembered how much that her concern had irritated Clary. He frowned looking down at her, but she didn't seem to care this time. He glanced back at Raphael who was watching Simon with a grim sort of glare.

"You could cut off his head and burn his heart in fire," the vampire finally said, his tone flat. "But I doubt you will do that." Jace's hand tightened on the candelabra. Could he do that? He knew that he wouldn't have a problem doing it to the vampire, but to Simon? The mundane had hated the vampires. He wouldn't want to be one. Jace didn't know Simon that well, but he was sure of that.

"No!" Clary cried out then, but he didn't look down at her. He couldn't. Not with the prospect of what he might have to do looming over him. Instead he stared at Raphael, who was looking down at her. "Don't you dare hurt him!"

The vampire shrugged. "I have no need to."

"I wasn't talking to you," she snapped, and Jace's stomach plummeted as he turned to look numbly at her. But she wasn't meeting his gaze. She was staring down at Simon, rocking him. "Don't you even think about it, Jace." she breathed, and Jace bit the inside of his cheek. How could she—how did she—_how? _"Don't even think about it." she repeated. No one spoke then. No one breathed a word. Jace swallowed as he stared at Clary. Beautiful blood soaked Clary. Surely, she had to know that her friend wouldn't want—that the only other option was a fate worse than death? He willed her to look at him. Willed her to see what might be the right thing. He had been no friend of the mundanes, but this—what he was thinking about doing—it wasn't out of spite or hate. It was mercy.

"Clary," he finally breathed and saw her flinch away from him. It pained him to see her like that, but he continued. "What would Simon want?" His voice was as gentle as he could make it. "Is this what he'd want for himself?" At that, Clary's head snapped up to look at him and he saw the tears in her eyes, like sparkling diamonds in an Idris meadow. He swallowed as her eyes traveled slowly to the candelabra he held and then back up to him. And then her face twisted, her eyes going wide with fear.

_"__Get away from us!" _She screamed it so loudly that everyone but the vampire jumped. Jace stared at her in shock, his body feeling cold as he saw the fear in her eyes. She was afraid of him—that hurt him more than anything he had lived through so far. She was afraid of what he might do. Never—not ever—did he ever think he would see her look at him like that. She was shielding the mundane now. But he didn't move. He couldn't. He was rooted to the spot. But did she really want Simon to turn into a vampire? Wouldn't that be making his choice for him? Taking away what he would want? Jace glanced up at Isabelle who looked white with shock. He hated that he seemed to be the only one advocating for the stupid mundane.

"Clary," he breathed awkwardly. "You don't think—"

Simon gasped and Jace stepped back, his grip on the candelabra tight, as the mundane arched upward. Clary screamed in surprise and then tightened her grip around him. Simon began reaching upward, grasping at something that wasn't there. Clary pushed his hand down gently, and Jace saw her fingers lace together with the mundanes. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't. "It's me," Clary breathed, her voice hitching. "Simon, it's me. It's Clary." Jace wanted to run. He wanted to run and never look back. He wished he could stand here and watch without emotion as she begged the mundane to look at her—as she desperately tried to get his attention. But he couldn't. He loved her. He couldn't be her brother. He couldn't be. He knew that now. He was far to in love with her. He had given his heart to her, and Clary—she— "Simon, I love you." Her voice was anguished and soft and Jace held tightly to the candelabra for that was all he had as he spiraled down. Because Clary would never love him. Not like that. Not ever.

Jace couldn't move. Somewhere in front of him he saw the mundane go lax. He saw the quivering shoulders of Clary and watched mutely as Isabelle tried to pull her away from Simon. She couldn't. Clary's grip was vice-like. Finally Isabelle stood up and rounded on the vampire. "What was this?" she spit angrily. "Why would you do this? Did you get your enjoyment vampire, because I'm going to get enjoyment when I cut your fucking heart out and shove it down your goddamn'd throat!" The vampire said nothing to this. He only stared at her. Frustrated with his lack of emotion, Isabelle threw her hands in the air. "And _now_ what are we supposed to do?"

"Bury him." It was Raphael, and Jace, who had been looking at Clary saw her blanch. Before he knew what he was doing, he swung the candelabra up in his hands, pointing it at the vampire. Rage had replaced his shock and heartbreak. And now he wanted to hurt something.

"That's not funny," he spit.

"It isn't supposed to be," Raphael shrugged, looking at the makeshift weapon with boredom. "It is how we are made. We are drained, blooded, and buried. When he digs his own way out of the grave, that is when a vampire is born."

Jace felt himself go pale at the same time that Isabelle made a retching noise. "I don't think I could do that," she said. Raphael looked a her speculatively.

"Some can't," he said finally. "If no one is there to help them dig out, they stay like that, trapped like rats under the earth." At this, Clary let out a sob as raw as the scream that had escaped her when she had first seen Simon lifeless in the vampires arms and Jace flinched. He hated that she was in pain. Hated that there was nothing he could do to comfort her.

"I won't put him int he ground," she breathed through her tears.

"Then he'll stay like this," Raphael said unmercifully, setting Jace's teeth on edge. "Dead but not quite dead. Never waking." Jace looked at Clary, wanting to touch her. To bring her some sort of comfort. He stayed his hands. He knew she wouldn't let him. Knew she would bat him away. So he contented himself with doing the only thing he could do now—agree with whatever it was she wanted to do. And if that meant burying Simon and helping to turn him into the undead, then that's what he would do. For no one but her. He said nothing. When Clary finally spoke, her voice was hollow.

"You didn't come into the Institute because you can't, isn't that right?" she said, looking up at the vampire. It wasn't a question. "Because it's holy ground and you're unholy."

Jace frowned, unsure of where she was going with this. "That's not exactly—"

"I should tell you," Raphael cut him off, "that there is not much time. The longer we wait before putting him into the ground, the less likely he'll be able to dig his own way back out of it."

Clary looked down at Simon. There was no expression on her face now, and that scared Jace. Was she in shock? "We can bury him," she whispered then, her eyes closing. "But I want it to be a Jewish cemetery. And I want to be there when he wakes up."

Jace looked at the vampire, who was watching Clary as if deciding something. "It will not be pleasant," Raphael said.

Clary looked up at him, her gaze hard and her jaw set. "Nothing ever is," she said. And for the briefest of moments, her eyes flitted to Jace's causing his stomach to drop heavily. And then she looked away. "Let's get going. We only have a few hours until dawn.

But Clary didn't move. She only stared there with Simon while they were sent to get ready. Jace loathed the idea of leaving her in the presence of the vampire, but he knew he would have no choice. There was no way Clary was leaving the mundanes side. Finally, with the encouragement of Isabelle, they sprinted inside to get the stuff they would need as he thought about what it was they were about to do. He was pretty sure that never in Shadowhunter history had anyone ever helped to create a Downworlder.

Until now.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: <strong>Please Review! _


	11. Some Things Are Worse Than Death

**~Chapter Ten~**

**Some Things Are Worse Than Death**

It didn't take Jace very long to get ready. When he returned to the porch, he found Clary where he had left her while the vampire was standing near the gate looking up at the night sky. Upon hearing the door open and close, Raphael turned to look at him and then began telling him things he would need for the birth of the new vampire. Jace saw Clary flinch at the request for blood but she otherwise stayed silent as she continued to stroke Simon's face. Stepping away, Jace called the only person he could think of. Alec answered on the second ring. When Isabelle came out, she was carrying a shovel and a sheet draped over her arm. She looked less than excited to be doing what they were about to do. Jace couldn't blame her. He wasn't exactly thrilled about it either. While he had been getting ready, he had grown more and more pissed off at the mundane. If he was really stupid enough to go running into a horde of vampires, then maybe he deserved his fate—not that he would ever tell Clary this. He valued his life, thank you very much. Pulling out her stele, Jace watched as Isabelle silently began to mark her arm. Realizing what she was doing, he did the same. And then he frowned down at Clary. Would she let him? Taking a step forward, he knelt next to her. His voice was as gentle as he could make it when he spoke.

"Clary?"

She didn't respond.

"Clary, I need your arm. I need to Glamour you."

She still said nothing but thrust her arm out at him. Jace's heart raced as he took ahold of it and began Marking her skin. She didn't look at him the whole time. Taking a deep breath, he stood up when he was finished and turned to the vampire who had stepped forward. Raphael didn't say anything, however—he merely watched as Isabelle wrapped the sheet gently around Simon and then bent down and picked the dying—dead—undead—whatever you wanted to call him—mundane up off the ground. Clary watched numbly without saying a word and Jace held a hand down to her, not knowing if she would take it. She did. He pulled her to her feet, and then he squeezed her palm, hoping to give her some kind of comfort. It was killing him that he couldn't do anything else for her when he so desperately wanted to. But whether she felt it, he didn't know. She pulled her hand out of his neither kindly or unkindly and then set off after the vampire who had already started moving.

The cemetery in question had been on the outskirts of Queens, because of course it had. Jace didn't know why it mattered so much whether it was a Jewish cemetery or Pentecostal but he wasn't about to argue with Clary's wishes. Even though the three of them had been glamoured, the vampire and the mundane had not, so they had had to keep to the shadows. There weren't that many people out this early in the morning, but all the same nothing good could come from a kid being seen moving at an inhuman speed while carrying another kid dead and covered in blood. The gate to the cemetery was locked and Jace quickly moved forward and began carving the Opening rune into it, which proved slightly more difficult than he had thought it would. Apparently the Jewish community really wanted to keep Shadowhunters from bringing back the dead. When the lock finally gave way, it took them a little while longer to find a spot suitable. Jace continued to not say anything. He only just tried to agree with what Clary wanted—though he suspected that in the big scheme of things, any spot would have been fine. It had been him who had pointed to the top of a small hill that was obscured by trees. Clary only nodded. He was starting to seriously worry about her. Once their spot was chosen, Clary took the shovel from Isabelle and began to stab it into the hard ground.

"Clary," Jace said, stepping forward. "What are you doing?" She didn't answer, but her effort grew more vicious. "Clary. Stop." Reaching forward, he took ahold of the shovel. "You don't have to do this."

"Yes," she said desperately, rounding on him. "I do." And Jace felt a pang of helplessness stab at him at hearing the anguish in her tone. She tried pulling the shovel out of his grip, but he didn't let go. This was ridiculous and he wasn't going to let her work herself to death.

"Stop," he said as she tugged fruitlessly again. "I'll do it." Clary's eyes widened and his pulse raced as he saw the shock and astonishment in them.

"You would do that for him?" She asked, her Idris eyes shimmering as her throat hitched.

_For you,_ he amended silently. _I would do anything for you. _But in the end he only nodded and then watched as she let go of the shovel and backed away, gratitude on her face that made it almost completely worth the fact that he was digging a grave for the love of his life's undead boyfriend. Almost. Jace bit the inside of his cheek and stabbed the dirt viciously.

"_Dios, su lenta," _Raphael said next to him, and Jace glared up at him.

"Well, we can't all have inhuman speed," he grumbled.

The vampire grinned. "No, _we_ all can't." he agreed. "But fortunately, I do. And I'd like to not be out when the sun comes up. And neither will your friend here." Jace stood and faced the vampire—who raised a brow. It would be so easy to flip the shovel up and use it to decapitate the bastard's head. He didn't though. Instead he nodded tersely and tossed the shovel at him. Raphael caught it deftly and then began to jack hammer the ground. Jace stood next to Clary, who had watched the whole thing without saying a word. He then looked at Isabelle who looked pale with disgust.

"Did he suffer?"

Jace's head snapped back to Clary. She was looking at Raphael who might have been just as caught off guard by the question, though it was hard to tell. The vampire stopped digging and looked back at Clary as he put his weight on the shovel. "What?"

Clary took a breath, closing her eyes. "Simon," she exhaled, her eyes opening. "Did he suffer? Did the vampires hurt him?"

"No." Raphael hadn't even hesitated. And then he smiled in a way that made Jace want to kick the shovel out from under him. "The blood death is not such a bad way to die," Raphael continued. "The bite drugs you. It is pleasant, like going to sleep."

Jace looked back at Clary, a conflicting range of motions flittering across her face. And then he saw her take a step back, her footing uneasy as agony passed through her eyes. Why was she doing this to herself? Why would she want to know what Simon had gone through? Wasn't it enough that they were bringing him back? She didn't need to know how he died, or if it had hurt, and she most certainly did not need to watch him get buried. "Clary," Jace said softly. He was surprised to hear his own voice sound like that. His adrenaline jumped when her Idris eyes met his and suddenly everything hit him with blinding clarity. The vampire, beautiful and terrible, digging a grave for a mundane who had broken into their lair. Isabelle, sexy and sultry, watching in disgust and horror while unable to say anything. But she never moved. The night full of light and dark as a chilly breeze rustled the leaves, and Clary—so full of life, and yet so pained. The boy she loved waiting to be buried while the boy who loved her stared on. Jace took a breath. He wanted to protect her. To shield her from the harshness of their world, knowing full well that he would never be able to. But he had to try, didn't he? If only to give her a reprieve? Besides, she looked like she might throw up any second. "Come on." He held his hand out to her, wanting nothing more than for her to take it, and knowing that she probably wouldn't. "You don't have to watch this."

Clary's haunted eyes slid away from him and rested on Isabelle who stood behind him watching over Simon's body. Her head shook only a fraction. "I want to be here when he wakes up."

"I know," Jace said, his tone still soft. He couldn't even pretend to be upset by her comment, because he would have had to lie to himself. "We'll come right back." She didn't take his hand. She didn't move at all. She needed a brother, but Jace didn't know how to be one. Not to her. When her eyes met his again, he knew that he would love her till the day he died. And even after. But that's not what she wanted to hear, and it wasn't the time anyway. Reaching forward, he wrapped his long fingers gently around her arm, mildly surprised that she didn't bat his hand away. She continued to look at him, but Jace was starting to think that she didn't really see him. The thought hurt, but he ignored it. When he gently guided her forward, she went willingly. He let out a breath of relief and continued to steer her down the hill away from Simon—away from the soft thumping of the vampire's shovel. He didn't take her far, because he knew she wouldn't want to, but it was far enough. Large boulders littered the ground and Jace finally let go of her arm and sat on one, zipping up his jacket as a chill passed through him. He wasn't sure if it was from the night air or the hopelessness of Clary as she looked out at the nearby lake. She stood there for a second before taking a seat beside him, her closeness sending his heart racing.

Without warning, her hands flew to her stomach and she doubled over. Jace bit the inside of his cheek, but otherwise forced himself to not move as Clary dry heaved. "I feel sick," she whispered, her breath coming out in plumes.

"I know," Jace frowned, crossing his arms as his own breath rose from his lips in the icy night air. "That's why I brought you out here." She sliced her eyes up at him and he shrugged nonchalant though he felt anything but. "You looked like you were going to throw up on Raphael's feet." Clary groaned, shoving her head between her knees, and Jace felt the corner of his mouth tick upward. "Might have wiped the smirk off his face," he said, thinking back to the smile the vampire wore when telling her about the blood death. "There's that to consider."

Clary said nothing, but he watched from the corner of his eyes as she sat up straighter now. Slowly she crossed her own arms over her chest and looked up at the moon that was way too bright for such a gloomy night. She looked beautiful in it's soft glow. Not that he could tell her that. He couldn't tell her anything he wanted to tell her. In fact, he was sure that he was topping some insensitive meter right now just for thinking about how much he wanted her when she was burying her boyfriend—friend—whatever the hell Simon was. Clary sighed and he wondered briefly if he had spoken out loud. "This is my fault," she breathed.

Jace frowned. "It's not your fault."

Clary let out a breath, and he could tell that she was looking at him. "You're right," she agreed. "It's _our_ fault."

_What the fuck?_ Jace turned to look at her with disbelief. She really didn't believe that, did she? But he could tell that she did. Why? They hadn't forced the stupid rat boy to drink the faerie drink. They hadn't made him bite Raphael. And they certainly hadn't made him foolishly break into Dumort. Those had all been Simon's decisions. How were _they_ at fault because the mundane was a dumbass? "How do you figure that?" But she didn't answer. He watched, his stomach flipping as her eyes travelled to his face and throat. She looked miserable and curious all at the same time. Had she even heard his question? A strand of hair had fallen across her face, and Jace itched to tuck it behind her ear. Her crimson hair glowed in the moonlight. She still didn't answer him though. She only just stared at him. The faintest smile crossed her lips, confusing Jace, before it disappeared. Unable to bear being stared at by her like that any longer, he shook his head. "What?" he asked, his brows furrowing. "Why are you looking at me like that?" _Like you both love me and hate me._

It was a moment before she answered, and then Clary's shoulders dropped. "If it weren't for what happened in the faerie court, Simon would still be alive."

Jace wanted to scream but he settled for reaching down and brutally dismembering a piece of grass instead. He stared at the blades of green that still hung desperately to the clump of dirt that housed its roots. She couldn't really believe that? Hadn't she heard what Raphael had said? Simon went there because he was a stupid fucking twit, not because of them—it couldn't have been because of them. Besides, he had told the mundane not to come with them. That faeries didn't like mundanes. Why couldn't he just listen? And then Jace thought back to standing on the porch, staring down at the dying body of the mundane. He had felt guilt then, but he hadn't really thought about it. Could this be their fault? He chucked the clump of grass aside. "We were forced to do what we did," he said trying to make it sound like he believed it. It was true. They wouldn't have kissed otherwise. And maybe Jace would even accept that some day. "It's not like we did it for fun, or to hurt him." _No, if anyone had been hurt from it, it had been me,_ Jace thought bitterly. Because he wanted her. He wanted her and couldn't have her. "Besides," he said, looking at Clary and forcing a smile on his face—though he was sure it didn't reach his eyes, "you're my sister." He said that last word without any emotion.

They stared at one another, and Jace thought he even saw her flinch from the word. He wasn't sure why she would do that. She was the one who _wanted_ to be his sister. Anything else was _sickening_. His feelings were sickening. Hell, didn't she think that on some level he knew that? That he wished that it wasn't true? That he could just be her brother? But he couldn't. Finally, she sighed. "Don't say it like that—"

"What, 'sister'?" He cut her off, afraid that if he didn't she might try to tell him how wonderful it was that they were siblings. He didn't think he could handle that. Not from her. Jace shook his head when he saw her watching him. "When I was a little kid, I realized that if you said any word over and over fast enough, it loses all meaning. I'd lie awake saying words over and over to myself—'sugar,' 'mirror,' 'whisper,' 'dark.'" He looked down, biting the inside of his cheek. Back at the Institute, he had thought that maybe if he had said sister enough times, he might actually believe it. Now he wanted to take away it's meaning—to take away the power that one little word held over them. But it didn't. "Sister," he exhaled. "You're my sister." _And I'm in love you. _

Clary's lower lip trembled slightly, but her eyes were clear. He watched the smooth lines of her throat strain as she swallowed. And when she spoke, it was barely above a whisper. "It doesn't matter how many times you say it. It'll still be true."

"And it doesn't matter what you wont let me say, that'll still be true too." _I love you. I'm in love with you. And I always will be. _Jace met her eyes, his chest feeling hollow. He hadn't planned on saying that—it had just come out. But now he was glad he had. He wanted her to know how he felt, even if it meant hurting himself. He would rather be heartbroken than a liar. Clary stared at him, but he didn't back down. Now her eyes began to swim and his stomach flipped. _Don't,_ he begged silently. _You don't feel the same, remember? it's sickening. You can't be hurt. You can't be. _He had just started to reach for her, and he noticed that she wasn't moving away, when—

_"__Jace!"_

_Of course. _Jace dropped his hand, stealing one last glance at Clary before wiping all emotion from his face and turning toward the voice. Alec was running toward them, Magnus just behind him. He was waving a plastic bag in the air. When he came to a stop in front of them, Alec took a breath. Had he ran the whole way, Jace wondered. "I brought blood," Alec said, handing him the bag. "Like you asked."

Jace opened it and peered down at the packets full of blood. _Ew._ Closing it, he looked back up at them. "Do I want to ask where you got this?"

It was Magnus who answered. "From a butcher shop in Greenpoint," he said stopping next to Alec. Jace noticed that Alec took a step away but if this upset Magnus, the warlock didn't show it. "They bleed their meat to make it halal. It's animal blood."

Jace shrugged. "Blood is blood." Standing up, he looked down at Clary who was still staring at him. He wished she wouldn't. It made it harder. But he also knew he couldn't avoid her stare, and he didn't want to. Stolen moments—that's all he would get now. He could feel the plastic stretching over his fingers. Had she heard what Raphael had told him he would need back at the Institute, or had she been too busy with the mundane to pay attention. "When Raphael said this wouldn't be pleasant, he wasn't lying." He said slowly, trying to impress upon her what was about to happen. "You can stay here. I'll send Isabelle down to wait with you." He knew it was a long shot to keep her away from the mundane, but he had to try to protect her from what he could only imagine would be gruesome.

"Have you ever seen vampires rise?" she asked, her head tilting backward as she looked up at him from where she sat. He knew where she was going with this, and he sighed. Didn't she realize he was just trying to protect her?

"No, but I—"

"Then you don't really know, do you?" She cut him off, getting to her feet. He gave her a blank stare as he bit the inside of his cheek. Isabelle's coat was, unsurprisingly, too big for her. She look like she'd been swallowed. Before he could reply though, Clary was speaking again. "I want to be there," she said, and Jace couldn't help but to tick his eyebrow up with disbelief. "I _have _to be there." She amended.

Clary. Beautiful stubborn Clary. He would never be able to protect her. Not because he wouldn't try—he would to his dying day—but because she was just too fucking bullheaded. How many times had he told her not to do something. And how many times had she not listened? But if he were to be honest with himself, it was one of the many things he loved about her. He had to bite back on his smile as he looked at her now. "I know better than to tell you there's anything you can't do," Jace said capturing her Idris eyes. He took a breath, his heart hammering. He was seriously a glutton for punishment. "Let's go."

When he turned he saw Alec staring at him, but he couldn't make out the expression on his face. Confused maybe? He had no idea. Instead of responding, Jace just shook his head and began walking back toward the soft thumping of the shovel. Clary was beside him, keeping pace with him. He stole a glance at her. Her eyes were determined as she looked ahead. But the rest of her . . . Jace sighed. Clary's brows were knitted together and her usually full lips were pulled taut. He wished he could hold her. Tell her everything would be—well, not okay, obviously—but . . . hmm. Maybe it was best he couldn't try to comfort her. He wasn't sure what he would say in this moment. Sorry the rat boy became a bat boy? They should make that into a Hallmark card, he thought idly as he took in the sight before him. And then he was suddenly alert. Simon was gone, and Isabelle met his eyes briefly before looking at her feet again. Her whole body was shaking as she hugged herself. Jace turned to Raphael who seemed to have just finished burying Clary's best friend.

This was so morbid.

The vampire who was burying a human, who would later be given blood supplied by a warlock, while Shadowhunters watched. Not to mention that the human was the maybe, possible, boyfriend of Jace's sister, whom Jace was also in love with, which was why he even agreed with this in the first place.

Yeah . . . definitely morbid.

Jace, moving to lean against a nearby tree, shook his head and crossed his arms, fighting off the cold night air at the same moment that Clary hugged her coat around her. "Jesus, it's cold," she complained. "It's as if it turned to winter overnight." Jace looked at her and fought the urge to help warm her. Her cheeks were flushed with cold air and her nose was adorably pink. He had to look away, and saw that Alec and Magnus had come to stand next to him.

"Be glad it isn't winter." The vampire said setting the shovel aside. "The ground freezes like iron in winter. Sometimes it is impossible to dig and the fledgling must wait months, starving underground, before it can be born." At this, Jace blanched. He imagined lying under the dirt, unable to move. He reflexively stretched out his arms. He didn't consider himself claustrophobic, but he didn't care for the idea of not being able to move either.

"Is that what you call them?" Clary asked, oblivious of Jace. "Fledglings?"

The vampire's cool dark eyes looked at Clary for a moment before answering. "Yes," he said. "It means the not-yet or newly born." And then his eyes slid past her to Jace in surprise. No, not surprise—shock. Jace raised a brow before realizing that the vampire wasn't looking at him, but at Magnus. Jace looked between the two curiously, the vampire had already covered his blunder though, and now looked just as bored as ever. "High Warlock," Raphael nodded in greeting. "I hadn't expected to see you here."

"I was curious," Magnus said with a grin, his cat like eyes shining. "I've never seen one of the Night Children rise." And then the vampire did look at Jace, his expression both guarded and amused. Raphael was nearly as skilled as he was at controlling his emotions, Jace noted before looking back blankly.

"You keep surprisingly illustrious company, Shadowhunter." Raphael mused.

_Think so, do you? And just who here is illustrious—besides myself, of course. _And then Jace's eyes flitted up traitorously to Clary. She was looking right back at him, her Idris eyes glittering and sending his heart racing. He looked away quickly, resting his gaze back on the vampire. "Are you talking about yourself again?" he asked, kicking at the dirt but not taking his eyes off of Raphael. He allowed a smirk to play on his lips. "That seems boastful."

"Maybe he meant me," Alec popped off suddenly, and everyone looked at him. His cheeks flushed at the sudden attention and a nervous smile crossed his face. "Sorry," he said, when nobody responded. "Nerves."

Next to him, Magnus frowned. "There's no need for that," he said reaching for Alec, but Alec was quicker and took a step away. Jace bit the inside of this cheek as he watched the warlock lower his hand. It was brief, but he saw the sting of rejection in Magnus's eyes. Were the two of them fighting? _Don't be dense,_ he told himself. _It's because you're here and he doesn't know you know. _Jace sighed. If his _parabatai_ didn't come out to him soon, he was just going to have to call him out. Luckily, Clary was able to smooth over the awkward scene, whether she meant to or not.

"So what do we do now?" She said irritably, and Jace noticed she was hugging herself tighter and tighter. He considered giving her his coat, but knew with how cold it was, she would refuse adamantly. The vampire seemed to not notice how cold she was as well, and smiled at her sending a chill that had nothing to do with the weather through Jace.

"It is always cold at a rising," he said. "The fledgling draws strength from the living things that surround it, taking from them the energy to rise."

Clary's eyes narrowed. "You don't seem cold."

Jace snickered, but if Clary heard she didn't acknowledge it. Raphael heard it though, and his black eyes met Jace's golden ones for the briefest of moments before returning to Clary with a grin. "I'm not living," he explained through his amusement. And then the vampire took a step back from where Simon was buried, and motioned for the others to do the same. "Make room—Simon can hardly rise if you are all standing on top of him."

Jace, who hadn't moved from the tree, watched as the others scrambled back away from the freshly packed earth where the mundane was buried. No, not mundane—not anymore. That was going to take some getting used to. He cast a covert glance at Clary to see how she was doing. She was strong. So much stronger than he gave her credit for. So much stronger than he was. It was just one more reason he was in love with—_Nope! _Jace stopped the thought in it's tracks as he watched her talk to Isabelle who seemed frozen. _Can't go thinking about that,_ he chastised himself.

"Let him die, you mean," Clary's tone was like a gunshot, and tore Jace away from his thoughts in time to see her jerking out of Isabelle's grip. His brows furrowed. What had he missed? "Of course that's what you think," Clary spit angrily. "You think everyone who isn't like you is better off dead anyway."

Isabelle looked pained. "That isn't—"

But what that wasn't, they never learned. At that moment an unGodly sound ripped through the night air, rendering everyone there silent. But it wasn't coming from around them—it was coming from _under _them. Jace pushed himself off the tree, his hand at his belt and resting on his seraph blade. Clary looked around wildly as the sound continued. It reminded Jace of a metallic heartbeat. Their eyes met for one frantic moment before the ground heaved and sent Clary sprawling to her knees. Jace moved forward, but was stopped by Magnus. Jace turned to glare at him, but the warlock was unfazed. He merely shook his head and pointed at the same moment that a small portion of earth burst apart revealing a dirty hand.

_"__Simon!" _The scream captured Jace's attention better than the warlock ever hoped to, and he turned to see Clary scrambling furiously toward it. Jace's adrenaline raced and he jerked out of the warlocks grip, dashing forward to stop her. Raphael was there first. With his arm around her stomach, he pulled her back. "Let me go!" She cried out, trying desperately to get free. Jace bit the inside of his cheek, torn between pummeling the vampire for touching her and knowing that he was doing it for her own good. "Can't you see he needs our help?"

"He should do this himself," Raphael said, still holding her. Even with the fight Clary was putting up in her bid for freedom, he looked like he may have been holding nothing more than a fussy kitten. And then the vampire met Jace's gaze, his eyes asking for understanding. "It is better that way."

Jace nodded and crossed his balled hands across his chest. He didn't like it, but he understood it. Clary, however didn't. She was wiggling and jerking in the vampire's arms. "It's your way!" she screeched. "It's not mine!" And then she turned in a way that Raphael hadn't been expecting and she shot free from his grip and toward the hand that was still grappling at the earth. Jace darted forward to stop her, but the earth cracking and rolling suddenly knocked them both back this time. Jace landed painfully on his ass. Clary was on the ground again too, but in front of her, Simon, caked with dirt and blood, had finally freed himself from his grave and Jace watched in disgust as he clawed himself forward before collapsing on the ground. And then Jace lowered his hand to his blade again, because this wasn't Simon anymore. He knew that now. Felt it. This was a vampire. A newly born vampire. And he was dangerous.

"Simon," Clary breathed. Jace looked at her, but she was watching the vampire with both longing and pain. And then she scrambled to her feet and darted for him before anyone could stop her.

"Clary!" Jace shouted, getting to his own feet. "What are you doing?" But it was too late. She had already reached the newborn and sank to her knees next him. Jace made to move forward, but once again, Magnus's hand shot out to stop him. The warlock wore a grim expression, but said nothing just like last time. He turned to look back at Clary, who seemed completely unsure of what to do.

"Simon?" She said tentatively, her voice caressing his name in a way that made Jace bite the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. But Simon was unresponsive. He just laid there. "Simon," Clary tried again, reaching out and touching his shoulder. "Are you—" her voice cut off and she swallowed nervously. "—all right?"

Simon moved then, turning his head to look at Clary. Jace saw her eyes widen at the same time that Magnus's fingers dug into his shoulder. And then time slowed down. The newborn let out a blood curdling cry as he flipped over and lunged at her in one graceful swoop. Jace felt the blood drain from his face as he heard Clary cry out Simon's name again, but this time in shock and fear as she was knocked backward and pinned to the ground. Jace spun out of the warlocks grip at the same moment that Clary tried to kick the newborn back. He reached her just seconds after Raphael, and then everything sped back up as he watched the vampire pick Simon up as if he weighed nothing and cast him aside. Seeing Clary lying on the ground, dirty and in agony sent his heart racing painfully and he took a step back. He had nearly lost her. He had nearly—_I'll kill Simon. _Raphael on the other hand seemed completely nonplused about the whole thing and watched as Clary got to her feet. "I told you to stay away from him," he said before turning and walking away. He stopped and kneeled next to where Simon had landed, his back to them. Jace watched Clary, unsure of what to do now. Her whole body was shaking as she watched the two vampires.

"He doesn't know me," her voice came out hitched, and Jace's heart broke.

"He know's you," Raphael said without looking up from the now twitching newborn. "He doesn't care." And then he looked back at Jace, who was biting at his cheek torn between staking both vampires and wrapping his arms around Clary. He was sure she wouldn't let him do either, because of course she wouldn't. "He is starving," the vampire said. "He needs blood."

Jace swallowed and picked up the bag that Alec and Magnus brought before handing it to Raphael. The vampire wasted no time it ripping it out of his hands and tearing it open. Jace watched numbly as the blood packets fell out and littered the ground. Reaching down, the vampire picked one up and glared at it. "Fresh would have been better," he muttered before ripping it open and spilling blood everywhere. It was enough to catch Simon's attention. The newborn convulsed and then wailed at the sight and scent of the blood. Jace watched in disgust as Raphael held the packet over Simon's face and allowed it to drip down on him. "There you go," the vampire practically sung to the newborn, like a mother coddling an infant. "Drink, little fledgling. Drink." And Simon did. He snatched the packet and ripped into it savagely with his teeth and Jace stared in sheer disgusted horror. _I'm going to be sick,_ he decided just as the newborn tossed the now empty pack aside and wailed for another—which Raphael already had ready. "Do not drink too fast," he said consolingly. "You will make yourself sick."

_Him and everyone else,_ Jace thought dryly. He couldn't watch this display anymore, and instead turned to see how Clary was handling it. She was staring with wide-eyed horror as well. Jace couldn't blame her. It was like staring at a train wreck. You know—if the train had been mauled by vampires, died, and then been buried, and then crawled itself up through the earth, and was now grotesquely guzzling dead animal blood packets. Okay, maybe it was nothing like a train wreck. It was much much worse. Raphael turned to look up at Clary too, and she slowly closed her mouth and drew her shoulders back. "Next time he feeds, it will not be quite so messy," the vampire said as if apologizing for Simon's bad table manners. Jace almost snorted. Almost. Clary on the other hand just stared. And then she took a step back. And then another one—her head shaking. A moment later she turned and ran.

"Clary!" Jace called after her, instantly worried. But she didn't stop. He saw her disappear down the hill and through the trees. "Son of a bitch." Jace turned to look at everyone, who were now all watching him. "Stay here." He ordered before following Clary's footsteps down the hill. He heard Alec protest, but ignored it and soon he was far enough away that he couldn't hear any of them anymore. The cold night air seemed to press in on him now as he moved around headstones. "Clary?" he called out softly, his breath coming out in plumes of vapor. She didn't respond, not that he thought she would. He bit the inside of his cheek. What had she expected would happen, he wondered irritably as he checked behind a tree. That she would say his name, and Simon would pop up and be like, _"What's up? Wanna go do whatever nerdy shit it is I do?" _Jace shook his head. _Come on, Clary. You knew better than that._ But on some level, he thought that maybe that was really what she had hoped for. "Oh, you stupid, stupid, beautiful mundane Shadowhunter," he whispered to himself as he pulled his witchlight from his pocket and squeezed it. Holding it out in front of him, he used it to light his way and aid in his search. But she seemed determined to not be found. Sighing, but refusing to give up he rounded yet another gravestone. Ahead, a dark lump was sprawled on the ground and Jace's stomach dropped. He didn't need to ask to know it was her and he darted forward.

Dropping to his knees, he could hear her sobbing. "Clary," he breathed, his heart hammering. She didn't respond. She didn't do anything. Sitting down fully next to her, he leaned back against the headstone and reached his hand out to touch her shoulder lightly. What she did next surprised him. Turning over, she threw herself across his lap—her head resting on his leg and looking away from him. His heart shot into his throat at her sudden movement and he looked down at her, unsure of what to do. What would a brother do? But he wasn't a brother, and he didn't have brotherly feelings for her. So he switched tracks—what would he do for a girl he loved who was hurting? Finally, he lowered his hand and began running it along her back. She was whispering something, but he couldn't quite make it out. Bringing his hand back up, he ran it up her neck and then tucked her hair back behind her ear. Leaning down, he strained to listen to what she was whispering. And then his stomach plummeted and his heart lurched. He wanted to pretend he hadn't heard it. Pretend that she wasn't saying it. But now that he _had_ heard it—it was almost like it was getting louder. Laying his head back against the gravestone, he closed his eyes, her words thumping along over and over again with each broken beat of his heart.

"I love you, Simon—I'm sorry, Simon."

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: _**_Here it is! Yay! I'm sorry it took so long. But I hadn't forgotten, and I'm glad I finally got to get back to it. Thank you to all my readers who have not given up on me! Please let me know what you think! _


	12. Avoidance

**~Chapter Eleven~**

**Avoidance**

"Clary, It's Jace—of course it's me. I just wanted to see how you were doing. I'm going crazy here with Magnus running around being—you know—Magnus. Oh! And he told me this story about this one time when he was in Peru. Did you know that while he was there, he . . . yeah, you know what? You'll have to wait to hear it. It's more of a face to face kind of story. So um, just give me a call, okay?"

###

"Hey, it's me again. I just—I know that you're upset, Clary, but I would really like it if you could come by sometime. The whole 'prison' thing kind of has me stranded here. It sucks and I'm going stir-crazy. On the plus side though, I think Alec might be close to telling me—um, never mind. But anyway, if you could give me a call, I'll just be here. Waiting. Talk to you soon. I hope."

###

"Clary, why are you doing this? Please answer your phone. Please stop avoiding me. Please—just please."

###

"You're being ridiculous, Clarissa! We were forced to do what we did! What do you want me to say? That I didn't want to kiss you? Fine, I'll say it—I didn't want to kiss you. I wish we were never made to kiss. It was _sickening_ to have to do that. Now will you talk to me? I don't know why you're doing this, but come on—it wasn't your fault what happened with Simon. It wasn't either of our faults! You know what? Fuck it. Don't fucking talk to me then."

###

"I'm sorry for that last message. If you could just delete that one, that'd be great."

###

"Alright, look . . . I'll just be your brother, okay? I'll be anything you want me to be. Just please call me back. I just want to know you're okay. I mean, I know you are—Alec, Magnus, and Isabelle have told me as much, but I just want to see or hear it for myself, you know? Bye."

###

"Remember when we took Simon home and you had started crying and I reached for your hand? I didn't mean anything by it—I promise. Just a brother comforting his sister, okay? That's allowed, right? Please talk to me, Clary. I can't handle the silence—I think you know this about me. Who am I kidding? You know more about me than I probably know about myself . . . so please, just call me. I—I miss you. I don't know if I'm allowed to say that, but there it is. Besides, in the big scheme of things, I'm sure a brother missing his sister isn't the worst thing to happen is it? Anyway, you have my number."

Jace ended the call and looked down at his cell, before tossing it dejectedly on the couch. Four days. It had been four _fucking _days since they had buried Simon and then watched him rise. Four days since he had sat in the graveyard with Clary whispering Simon's name over and over again. Taking her back to him had been worse. When they returned, he was sitting next to Raphael looking both sick and terrified. Clary had gone to him, but Simon wouldn't let her near him for fear of hurting her. This had not helped the situation. From there they had gone to Luke's house. Jace had noticed then that she wasn't looking at him, and that she was only responding with nods and shakes. Maybe he should have realized something was up then, but he had thought she was just in shock. And then, after they had dropped the newborn off at his house Clary had burst into tears. Jace had reached for her hand, but she had jerked away from him. She still refused to look at him. And since then, she has refused to talk to him. He wasn't even sure what he had done—and he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now. He had tried acting like everything was okay, had tried being understanding—had even tried anger, which he regretted. Nothing. She wouldn't call him. He didn't even know if she was listening to the voicemails. He had left quite a few, but had called even more than that, just choosing to hang up when she didn't answer. Maybe it would just be easy to forget about her. He had tried hating her—wanted to hate her. But he couldn't. No matter how hard he and tried, he just couldn't. Jace ran his fingers roughly through his hair and threw himself onto the couch as well, sinking miserably into it.

"Should I even bother to ask how you're doing?" It was Magnus. "It will be a pretended concern, of course, but I could ask if you'd like." Jace didn't trouble himself with looking at him, though he could see from the corner of his eye that the warlock was leaning against the door. Jace grunted. "You know," Magnus began, checking his fingernails for defects, "I'm pretty sure there is a word for someone who pines for their sister." Jace thought of about a hundred different retorts, and twenty-three of them were in another language. But what was the point? He knew that the warlock was just trying to goad him into talking, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. Jace sighed heavily and sunk further into the couch. And he wasn't _pining _for his sister_._ He was concerned for her wellbeing. _Yeah, keep telling yourself that. _Instead, he tried to focus on the TV—which would have been easier if he had remembered to turn it on. He could see his reflection in the dark screen, his blonde-white hair plastered in every which direction. "Do you even plan to wear clothes?"

At this Jace looked at the warlock. He then looked down to the white long sleeve and blue flannel pajama pant's he wore. "What are these?"

"Oh I give up," Magnus said. "I agreed to keep a prisoner here for the Clave. I didn't agree to babysit an overly emotional child with poor hygiene. If I want a soap opera, I'll put one on." Jace felt himself bristle at this, and had to bite back hard on the anger that was building in him. Bad hygiene? This was coming from the warlock who kept unspeakable lubricants in his bathroom? Really? He bit the inside of his cheek. Magnus was doing this on purpose, and Jace wouldn't give him the satisfaction of succeeding. When Jace continued to say nothing, he heard the warlock snicker. "You really are stubborn, aren't you? Suit yourself. Continue to wallow in the pity of forbidden love and abusive childhoods and whatever else it is you angst ridden teenagers wallow in. Alec will be here shortly, and I'm sure you two can wallow together."

"Are you two fighting?" It was out of his mouth before he could stop it. There was silence and curiosity began to win Jace over. He flipped onto his back and stared across the room at the warlock, who seemed at a loss for words. It dawned on him then that he had not told Magnus that he remembered the conversation from a few days ago. He shrugged. "He's gay. I know he's gay. And I know you two have been dating secretly."

"And just how would you know this?" Magnus asked, his face blank. "And why would you think we're arguing?"

"I've known he's gay for awhile, which I told you before. And like before, I still don't care. I figured out you two had something going on awhile back—sorry but all knocking me unconscious did was give me a decent rest—"

"Pity."

"—and I noticed you calling him Alec. You usually call him Alexander." Jace shrugged again.

Magnus stood there staring at him before finally taking a breath and looking at the ceiling. "I would keep what you know to yourself." It wasn't a threat, Jace noted, but almost a plea. "And as for us arguing," Magnus continued. "Let's just say; you're not the only one dealing with someone who wants—someone who can't—"

"What?" Jace asked perplexed.

Magnus shook his head. "Your brother is confused. And why I'm telling you any of this when I could be instead sitting at my beautiful new round table and eating my Victoria Beef Sukiyaki Udon from Masa's is beyond me."

"They deliver?" Jace asked, momentarily distracted.

Magnus looked at him like he was stupid. "A restaurant of that caliber? Of course they don't deliver." And then he wiggled his fingers at him and swept regally from the room, leaving Jace alone once more.

Jace sighed and dropped his head back on the couch. He probably could use a shower, he guessed. He hadn't actually taken one since getting back those many nights ago. At this rate, he might even grow a beard. Groaning, he pushed himself up and drug himself to the bathroom. Shutting the door softly behind him, he reached for his stuff that sat in the small corner of the counter Magnus had allotted him and pulled out a razor and shaving cream. Looking at himself in the mirror, he rubbed his rough face with one hand before turning on the water and getting to work.

The shower was much harder to get through. He didn't want it to end, and he stayed under the perfect water pressure long after the water had turned cold. His skin prickled with goosebumps, but he still didn't get out. He wanted to talk to Clary. He wanted to see her, but she was avoiding him. In his mind, he could see her Idris eyes alight with emerald fires. He could see her ruby curls bouncing as she looked at him. Why couldn't things be simple anymore? Simple like it had been back in the Institute the night she had kissed him. He remembered she tasted like apples. But he shouldn't remember how she tasted, or how she felt when she had pressed against him in the faerie courts, or how she had looked at him when she first came out of the elevator wearing Isabelle's mini-dress. Oh. That mini-dress. Despite the icy water, Jace suddenly felt hot. Maybe he would need to take a few more minutes in the shower.

When he stepped back into his room, the towel wrapped around his waist, he heard it. His phone ringing—her ringtone. "Shit!" Darting forward, he searched the couch for his phone. "Where are you?" It rang again and he flung a couch cushion across the room, his breath hitching as his heart hammered. "Fuck!" A second later, his fingers wrapped around it and relief flooded him as he pressed it to his ear on the third ring. "Clary," he breathed into the phone. He could hear the longing and relief in that one word and knew there was nothing he could do about it. But Clary didn't respond. He heard nothing on the other end. Trepidation began to set in. If she was going to call him, surely she would have said something by now. Jace swallowed. "Clary, are you all right?" Still no response. What the hell? He sighed. Why wasn't she talking to him? This was almost worse. Like being face to face with her, but getting the silent treatment. No, that wasn't true. At least he would see her face. And now, at least he knew she was on the other end. "Clary, he said again, almost pleading. "I thought you were avoiding me—"

"You were right." A cold voice spoke through the phone and Jace's stomach dropped. A cold voice that was not Clary's. It was Simon's. "She still is," he continued unmercifully, and Jace felt rage flood him. "This is Simon." _No shit, _Jace wanted to scream. Why the fuck was the vampire calling him? Why would he have Clary's phone? What could he possibly have to discuss with— "Hello?" Simon said suddenly when Jace had failed to respond. Jace bit the inside of his cheek, his fist clenching and unclenching. It was a few more seconds before he answered.

"I'm here." His voice was cold and sharp and it was taking everything he had to not call the leech something very colorful. "If you're calling me up just to chat, you must be lonelier than I thought."

"Believe me," Simon said unfazed, his voice still hard, "I wouldn't be calling you if I had a choice. I'm doing this because of Clary."

Jace's stomach flipped. Doing what because of Clary—calling him? Was she okay? Was she hurt? He would break the leaches fucking face if anything has happened to her. "Is she all right?" He managed to get out, his voice straining against the icy barrier of his tone. "If something's happened to her—"

"Nothing's happened to her." Simon cut him off, the words resonating more than the vampire would ever know. But then why—Jace pulled the phone away and checked the screen. It was definitely Clary's phone that called him. Which meant she was there. Which meant she had asked Simon to call him because she was _that_ stubborn and still refusing to talk to him. She was talking to the leech though. _He _was allowed to be around her. But Jace—who had done nothing wrong? He couldn't remember balling his hand into a fist as he crushed the phone with his other hand. "What happened then?" His voice was barely contained. And then he listened as Simon told him about the demon that had shown up, and about some werewolf named Maia who was attacked. She would need medical assistance apparently. But Clary was okay. Finally, when the leech stopped yammering and shut his trap, Jace took a breath.

"A Drevak demon?" Jace asked to make sure he had heard correctly.

"Yes."

"Keep her still. Move her as little as possible. Try to keep her hydrated—the water can help stave off Drevak poison, but only for a short time. In fact, she'll feel thirsty because of it. I'll be there as soon as I can with Magnus and Alec. And Simon? Keep those things away from Clary or I swear to the Angel, I'll stake you and toss you into the sun." Jace hung up, the phone still clenched tightly in his hand. It took him a few more minutes before he was calm enough to move. Pulling out his duffle bag he set to work on getting dressed in his Shadowhunter gear. When he was done, he grabbed up a couple seraph blades. Bending down, he started to zip his bag up when he caught the gleaming reflection of the broken Portal he had tucked inside of it, having taken it with him from the Institute. He chewed on his cheek before grabbing it and shoving it into one of the inside pockets of his jacket. Stepping out of his room and into the living room he found Alec and Magnus sitting at the round table. The warlock raised his brow.

"And where do you think you're going?" He asked.

"Luke's," Jace said, attaching the blades to his belt. "There was a demon attack, a werewolf was poisoned and needs your help." He looked up to see both Alec and Magnus staring at him stunned. Magnus regained himself first.

"What kind of demon?" he asked.

"Drevak," Jace said, knowing that the two in front of him would know the significance. And they did not disappoint. Magnus' cat eyes narrowed just as Alec's widened.

"Messenger demons," Magnus said.

Alec shook his head. "But who—?"

"Who do you think?" Jace snapped. "That's why we need to get there. I doubt it was alone." Jace had thought he would have to argue the case, but to his relief, he didn't. Instead, they both nodded and then Magnus dashed to his room to get ready, leaving Jace and Alec waiting in the foyer. Wait—when did Magnus get a foyer? But then, maybe he shouldn't be surprised. This was Magnus, and the apartment was constantly changing. Only Jace's room stayed the same. When the warlock returned—_what the fuck was that? _Jace's eyes narrowed. "What the hell are you wearing?"

Magnus spun, a grin on his face, as the cape made quite possibly of crushed glass fanned out around him. "Like it?"

"No." Jace said flatly, and heard Alec stifle a laugh. "You like like a shiny—"

"Can we go?" Alec cut him off. "We're wasting time."

Jace looked at them both and then shrugged before turning and making his way out the door with the other two following behind him. He was still angry. He had spent four days calling Clary over and over again. Worrying about her. Wondering what she was doing, if she was okay—and now he knew. She was talking to everyone but him. The leech was allowed there. The leech was allowed to be close to her, to talk to her, and it was his own fucking fault he was a leech! But apparently _that_ was more forgivable than Jace being in love with her. He bit the inside of his cheek. He shouldn't be thinking about this. But how could he not? It took everything he had to keep his composure around his _parabatai, _who was watching him with the eyes of a hawk. On the subway, Jace made sure to take a seat in a spot next to a younger woman so that Alec couldn't sit next to him. With a heavy sigh, Alec sat across from him while Magnus sat next to Alec. Jace crossed his arms and kicked his feet out. Laying his head back, he tried to think about anything but Clary—which made him only think about her more. It wasn't until the girl next to him accidentally elbowed him that he even turned to look at her. Her features were slightly blurred and Jace rubbed at his eyes. Her hair was a dull brown and her large honey colored eyes were looking right at him. She might have been pretty—Jace wouldn't know. He was still having trouble really seeing her. And she was still staring at him. Jace tried smiling, and even though he knew that from her end it would seem genuine—dazzling even—to him it felt foreign. The girls eyes widened before she smiled timidly back. Leaning his head back once more, he realized that he really should have Glamoured himself.

"Hello."

Jace looked at the girl again. Was she really talking to him? What the hell was he supposed to say? Did he have to respond? Maybe he could fake narcolepsy. He cast a sideways glance at Alec and saw that he was shaking his head and rolling his eyes. Jace looked back at the girl.

"Hey."

The girl blushed because of course she did. Just because Jace felt like shit, didn't mean he looked like shit. He didn't. Not that it mattered—the one girl he wanted, didn't care about his looks. At least, she acted like she didn't. Oh, and she was his sister, so there was that. Furrowing his brows, he tried to focus on the girl more and noticed that despite her large round eyes, the rest of her features were petite; a small nose, small lips. It didn't look bad, but unique—in a large eyes, small everything else sort of way. "You got a name?" Jace asked suddenly, not sure why he was even bothering. It wasn't like this would ever go anywhere. Really, the most that would happen was that he would give a boost to the girl's confidence. She would go tell her friends about the amazingly good-looking guy who had talked to her on the subway.

"Angela," she squeaked out, and Jace allowed the corner of his mouth tick up.

"Beautiful name," he said, and watched the girl blush again. "You know it's derived from the word 'angel' right?"

The girls mouth popped open at the same moment that the train stopped. "Come on, Jace," Alec said next to him, his tone annoyed.

"Well, this is my stop," Jace said with the same false smile he and given her earlier. "It was nice meeting you, Angela." With that he got up and followed Alec and Magnus off the train and onto the platform. When he turned and looked back, he saw the girl watching him from the window. Jace waved and she waved back a little too enthusiastically.

"What the hell was that?" Alec asked as the train pulled away. Jace turned around to look at his brother, and then shrugged. Jace wasn't sure what it was—and now that the train and the girl were gone, he was feeling even more like shit. He didn't bother to respond, and Alec gave up on waiting for an answer. "Let's just go, lest you've forgotten about the demon and Clary?"

Jace's jaw locked shut, and when he did finally speak, his tone was like ice. "Do you really think I could forget Clary?"

Alec's eyes widened as he began to stammer. "No, I just meant—"

"Save it." Jace shoved past him. Behind him, he heard Magnus say something to Alec, but he didn't hear what it was. Probably something consoling. Personally, he couldn't bring himself to care. He was too busy trying to figure out why he had bothered talking to the girl on the subway. And then it hit him—he was testing himself. And he failed. He would never have done anything with the girl. It wasn't just that he couldn't either, though he had the feeling that that was apart of it—but really, he didn't want to. He didn't want to be with any other girl. Only one. And she was too busy being with a vampire. Jace bit the inside of his cheek. _She's your sister, _he reminded himself for what must have been the thousandth time. And yet, while the word meant nothing to him, it meant everything to her. He wished it meant something to him—knew it was wrong that it didn't. Knew what others must think—what Magnus and Alec who had had to watch him call Clary over and over again must think. It wasn't much longer before they reached Luke's house. The front was a bookstore while the back was where he lived. Since Clary's mom was in the hospital, she had been staying here with him.

Getting closer, Jace felt his skin prickle and he tensed up. Next to him, Alec's body went rigid as well. It was dark out, and Jace's eyes swept over the property. Luke's truck was parked nearby in the driveway, but nothing else seemed out of place. He turned, looking up the road—nothing. "No signs of demons," Alec said next to him. Jace grunted in agreement. "Think it was just the one?"

"It never is, usually," Magnus answered. "But I should get inside and see to this werewolf."

Jace nodded and led the way. As he got closer to the porch, he heard yelling coming from inside and his stomach dropped. He could hear Clary, an unknown female, and the bloodsucker. This incensed him all over again. He was in there with her. Taking the steps two at a time, he grabbed the doorknob, threw open the door, and stopped dead in his tracks. It took him only a second to scan the room—the vampire against the wall and the werewolf on the couch clutching her arm. Then he zeroed in on Clary. He felt the anger getting stronger the longer he looked at her. And what the fuck was she doing? She stood on the coffee table, a long sharp dagger in one hand. Her feet were shoulder width apart—a perfect stance. Her emerald eyes looked just over his head, irritating him. She was still refusing to look at him? Really? And then he felt the traitorous surge of adrenaline he always felt when she was around and he did his best to ignore it. Her fiery curls were cascading over her shoulders like he always preferred and her perfect lips popped open. That mixed with the faded blue jeans and the tight white t-shirt she wore, she looked . . . Jace bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes narrowing. He could feel his skin growing hot just looking at her, and this angered him even more. She shouldn't be allowed to cause that kind of reaction in him. She shouldn't be allowed to look so—so— "What do you think you're doing?" His tone was hard and annoyed, and he wasn't sure if he was asking about what was going at this moment, or what she had been doing to him for the last four days.

Clary looked down at herself and at the knife before looking back up at him, but not quite at him. Slowly she straightened up and drew her shoulders back, her eyes, that still weren't looking fully at him, taking on a defensive glare. "We had an incident," she said, her voice sending annoying shivers rippling through him after not having heard her in four days. "I took care of it."

"Really?" Jace asked, hearing the sarcasm in his tone. _Four days_, he wanted to scream at her. Instead he looked back down at the dagger she held, his brow cocking upward. "Do you even know how to use that knife, Clarissa?" He saw her tense at the use of her name. _Good._ He wanted to hurt her now. Knowing that this whole time she was off galavanting with the leech while he was stuck back at Magnus' being miserable—and she didn't care. "_Without _poking a hole in yourself or any innocent bystanders?" he added for good measure, knowing it would piss her off.

"I didn't hurt anyone," Clary said through clenched teeth, trying and failing to control her anger.

"She stabbed the couch." The wolf girl said, but Jace didn't look at her. He only had eyes for Clary. Even with how angry he was at her—how hurt he had been by her—four days without seeing her had been agony, and he could only drink in her appearance greedily. Next to him, Magnus moved forward and came to a stop next to the vampire—who Jace was trying hard _not _to look at. The warlock cleared his throat as he tried to get by the leech, but the dumb ass didn't move.

"I think she's getting worse," Simon said instead, and though Jace wasn't looking at him, he could hear the worry in the asshole's voice. Jace was still looking at Clary, who seemed to be doing her best not to look at him. She was looking at the wolf girl, though Jace saw the rise of color to her cheeks.

"Get out of the _way, _mundane," Magnus snapped suddenly, and with great agitation, when Simon still hadn't moved. Startled, the vampire took a step back, as the warlock tossed his ridiculous cape back over his shoulder and stalked past him and toward werewolf. Stopping in front of her— "I take it you're my patient?" The wolf girl said nothing and Jace, who had been willing Clary to look at him, gave up and looked down at the wolf instead. She was staring at Magnus, but continued to say nothing. "I'm Magnus Bane," the warlock continued, his fingers up and splayed as a blue wave of electric currency began to dance between them. "I'm the warlock who's here to cure you. Didn't they tell you I was coming?"

The wolf girl swallowed, a grimace on her face. "I know who you are, but . . ." She looked like she was really trying to focus on him. "You look so . . . so . . . _shiny_."

Alec stifled a laugh by unsuccessfully turning it into a cough. He was fooling nobody. Jace might have found it funny as well, but with all that was going on—and with the fact that Clary was still refusing to look at him, he was anything but amused. He scanned the room again, realizing who was missing. "Where is Luke?"

"He's outside," Simon answered. _No he's not, dumbass, _and Jace fought the urge to snap his hand forward and clock him. "He's moving the truck off the lawn."

_Shit._ Jace turned to look at Alec at the same moment that he looked at him. He knew he was thinking the same thing. When they got here, no one was outside—and the truck wasn't on the lawn. Jace looked back at the leech, making sure his eyes displayed the hatred he felt for him. "Funny," he said, the sarcasm dripping heavily. "I didn't see him when we were coming up the stairs."

"Did you see his pickup?" Clary asked suddenly, and Jace could hear the panic she was trying to mask. He slowly looked back up at her to see that she was staring at Alec, not at him, and she was cast in the blue glow of Magnus' magic that he had surrounded the wolf girl in. He wished she would get off the coffee table. Noticing he was being addressed, Alec answered.

"I saw it," he nodded. "It was in the driveway. The lights were off."

"I don't like it." Magnus said suddenly, and Jace looked at the warlock. He and the wolf were shrouded in what could have been a blue waterfall now, and his face looked blurry—his voice far away. All the same, the frown was unmistakable. "Not after the Drevak attack. They roam in packs," he continued, and Jace nodded in agreement as he reached down for one of his seraph blades.

"I'll go check on him," he said removing the blade from his belt. "Alec, you stay here, keep the house secure." Clary jumped down from the table just as Jace turned toward the door.

"I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not," he said without missing a beat and knowing at the same time that she wasn't going to listen. And he wasn't sure whether he should be amused by this or irritated. She spent the last four days ignoring him, the last ten minutes refusing to look at him, and now she wanted to go demon hunting with him? You know what? Fuck that. He continued toward the door not waiting for her. And then suddenly she was there with her back against the door, blocking his way out. _Are you fucking kidding me?_ He kept moving forward.

_"__Stop," _she said, her tone a conflicting mix of anger and pleading. But he didn't stop. He continued while contemplating shoving her out of the way. It wasn't until her emerald eyes flashed up to finally meet his, that he stopped only inches away from her. It wasn't fair that her eyes—her _goddamned eyes—_had that kind of power over him. He could see the rigidness of her body at his closeness and feel the tension in his own. His heart was pounding as he looked down at her. She needed to get out of his way. She didn't want to talk to him. She didn't want to see him—

"I _will _knock you down if I have to, Clarissa," he growled. _No you wont—shut up. _Jace bit the inside of his cheek.

"Stop calling me that," she snapped, her Idris eyes lighting with a fire that sent his blood boiling and his skin growing hot against it's will. He wanted to punch the wall. To scream. To shake her and ask her why she had avoided him. He did none of those things. Instead he cast his eyes down at her and took an almost imperceptible step toward her, listening as her breath caught in her throat. What the hell did she want from him?

"Clary," he breathed, his voice low and as sexually intimate as he could make it. Is that what she wanted? For him to talk to her like a lover but treat her like a sister? It was an asshole move, and he knew it. He could see the goosebumps that his tone had caused to race across her skin, and it sent his heart racing. If he pushed her away from the door, would she fight back? He knew she would. A flush rose to her cheeks then, as if she had heard his thoughts. He raised a brow and she swallowed.

"He's my uncle," she said through a hitch in her throat, like she was out of breath. "Not yours—"

Jace laughed hard, dry, and without any real humor—a vicious smile twisting his face. Was she just screwing with him now? She had to be. All this _'she's your mom, too,' _and _'you're my brother' _bullshit, and _now_ she wanted to say otherwise? Fuck that. "Any uncle of yours is an uncle of mine, darling sister," he said cruelly. "And he's no blood relation to either of us."

"Jace—"

"Besides," he said, cutting her off in a bored sort of tone now and taking a step back. His gaze travelled down to the knife she still held before meeting her eyes again. "I haven't got time to Mark you, and all you've got is that knife. It won't be much use if it's demons we're dealing with."

Without warning, and with a quickness he didn't know she possessed, Clary slammed the dagger into the wall—the blade slicing through the plaster easily and sticking there. Jace's eyes widened, his heart racing at her sudden ferociousness. He bit the inside of his cheek and tried desperately to deny the feelings that that one move had caused—_she's your sister, she's your sister—_as she rounded on him. "So what?" she demanded angrily, her Idris eyes alight with emerald fires. "You've got two seraph blades; give me one." By the Angel, he loved her. And now he stood staring at her, annoyed and angry and wanting so badly to touch her. Both of them were breathing heavily, and neither of them were giving. He realized just how erotic it was, and how to anyone watching—so very wrong and possibly awkward it was. Good thing he didn't care about what anyone else thought. His golden eyes raged molten lava as he took in the stubborn set of her jaw and the determination in—

"Oh, for the love of—" Simon cried out behind Jace, and Clary tore away from his gaze to look at the leech. He sounded angry. Good. "_I'll _go."

_Not good. Nope. Never mind. I take that back._ Jace didn't want that either. It was Clary who spoke though, and apparently neither did she. "Simon, don't—"

Simon moved forward and Jace cocked his head to look at him, keeping his face blank as the bloodsucker spoke. "At least I'm not wasting time standing here flirting—" Jace's stomach flipped and Clary blanched. "—while we don't know what happened to Luke," the leech said with quiet anger as he gestured for her to move. _Aww, are you jealous of Clary and her brother, rat boy? _Jace thought savagely. And then he looked at Clary, who was shaking her head. She didn't want Simon to come, which made Jace want nothing more than for him to come. His mouth stretched into a thin smile.

"We'll _all _go," he said reaching down and yanking one of his seraph blades out of his belt. When he held it out to Clary, he saw the surprise on her face. She didn't move. "Take it."

Slowly, she reached up and took it delicately out of his hand, being careful not to touch him. "What's its name?" she asked as she moved away from the door.

"_Nakir._" Jace said, grabbing the door handle and jerking it open. He didn't look behind him as he stepped outside, and yet he knew that they were both following him. Great. Wonderful. His eyes scanned the area in front of them and landed on Luke's truck just as Clary began shouting out his name. The door was hanging open and the dome light was on. From here, he could also hear it idling. Jace frowned. He was certain that the truck had not been on when they got here—and the door had definitely been closed. Tension wove it's way through him as he became focused and alert. "The keys are in the ignition. The car's idling."

"How do you know that?" Simon asked closing the front door.

Jace looked at him, a brow raising. Was he joking? "I can hear it," he said pointedly. Wasn't he a vampire now—with all the mumble jumble mega-senses that went with it? Jace shook his head. "And so could you if you tried, bloodsucker." With that, Jace turned and hopped down the stairs with a grace that he was sure the vampire didn't have either. Leave it to Simon to bring shame to the race of vampires_, _Jace thought with amusement as he laughed out loud. Approaching the truck, he stuck his head inside to confirm that it was empty before circling around it slowly, his hand on his belt. There was a struggle—but what kind, he wasn't sure. Either Luke went to a fight willingly, or he was drug away. As he made his way around to the side facing the house, he saw Clary standing there holding up the witchlight he had given her for her birthday—_don't think about that, _he cautioned himself. Frowning, he moved back toward the open door. "Bring that witchlight closer," he ordered as he knelt down in the grass. Clary was at his side in seconds. He ignored the jolt it gave him as he passed his hand through the dying blades of green. Something wasn't right. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a Sensor and ran it along the same spot. It immediately started going crazy, ticking off levels. Jace bit the inside of his cheek and took a steadying breath, his eyes taking in everything around them. "Definite demonic action," he said looking back at the Sensor. "I'm picking up heavy traces."

"Could that be left over from the demon who attacked Maia?" Simon asked. Jace shook his head, too busy eyeing their surroundings once more to come up with a sarcastic retort.

"The levels are too high. There's been more than one demon here tonight," he said popping lightly to his feet. He swept the landscape one more time, his body fully alert now, before turning back to Clary. "Maybe you two should go back inside. Send Alec out here." He could see the instant anger in her eyes at his suggestion. But it wasn't anything like that this time. He wasn't trying to piss her off now, and he tried to impress that upon her. "He's dealt with this sort of thing before."

Clary apparently didn't care. Her eyes narrowed and she drew her shoulders back. "Jace—" but then she cut herself off as she looked past him, the anger draining as quickly as it had come. "Look!" she cried out suddenly, pointing at something across the road. "By the water!"

Jace turned quickly, following her gaze with a sharp intake of breath. He saw it instantly, the dark elongated shape of—something. He took off. The dead grass, and then the hard broken asphalt, slapped hard under his boots, and everything rushed by quickly. Before he knew it, he was near the bank of the East River, his hand on his belt. From here he could see that there were two of them, and they were hunched over a third—Luke. He could see their large toad-like eyes, the grayish-white tentacles that were wrapped around Clary's adopted father, and he felt anger swell inside him as he urged himself to go faster. He was just about to pull his blade when he saw the glow of Clary's witchlight bouncing off the trees. _Son of a bitch! _He skidded to a halt, not far from where the demons sat, just as Clary and Simon reached him. He stuck out an arm to stop them. "Raum demons," he whispered in warning, hoping Clary hadn't seen that Luke was among them. Casting a sideways glance at her, he knew she had.

"Are those the same things that attacked Maia?" Simon asked wide-eyed.

Jace shook his head. "No. These are much worse." And then he began gesturing for them to get behind him as he pulled his blade from his belt. Drevak's were messengers—spies of a sort. But Raum's—they were retrievers. And he could only think of one person who would want someone spied on or retrieved. He felt his body go cold. "You two, stay back." And he gave Clary a meaningful look, hoping she listened, before raising his blade.

_"__Israfiel!"_ The blade leapt to life, vibrating in his hands. Rushing forward, he swept it at the first of the demons. The Raum demon turned and shot out one of it's long tentacles with incredible speed. Jace only grinned and repositioned himself, bringing the blade up and slicing through it. He ducked as the severed tentacle was sent soaring up past his head and away to who knows where. Personally, he wasn't that fussed about it. The demon was however, and it screeched in pain as it stumbled backwards away from Jace. "Oh, no you don't." Jace sprinted after it. Jumping on a rock, he used it to rocket himself off and toward the demon. He landed hard against it, and they both fell back. He ducked a tentacle that grazed past his head as he elbowed the demon in the black hole that was it's mouth where it's putrid breath was filling Jace's senses. "You could really use a mint," Jace grunted, ducking it's tentacle again as they continued to tumble and roll. As they went, his head collided with the ground more times than he would like to admit. But he never faltered. He ducked and rolled away every time the demon lashed out at him. With an upward tick of his blade, Jace sent the other tentacle flying. The demon screamed, and Jace took the moment of distraction to flip it and pin it down. He held it with one hand while he angled his blade over the demons abdomen where one of it's hearts were hidden.

"Where is he?" Jace spit. The demon shook it's horned head. "Don't think for a second that I don't know you're heart is under the tip of my blade," he threatened through clenched teeth. And then he moved the blade up to the side of the demons neck. "Or that the other one is here." Jace felt rage flooding him. "And don't think that I wont kill you in slowest and most painful way possible. Now _where is he?"_ The demon shook its head again, its glassy onyx eyes frantic. Annoyed, Jace reached down with the blade and loped off the demon's leg, black ichor spraying everywhere as the demon screamed. He brought the blade back to the heart in it's abdomen. "Valentine, where is he? Or do I need to take your other leg? After that, I get creative." The demon, quivering, turned and looked out at the river.

"Shiiiiiip. Shiiiiip."

"You came from a ship?" Jace asked, his brow cocking as he dug the tip of the blade through it's scaly flesh. The demon screamed.

"Shiiiiiip." The demon repeated, looking out toward the river. "Suuuuuummond. Shiiiiip."

"No shit, you were summoned," Jace retorted, his breath hard at the exertion of holding the demon in place, before looking out at the East River. His mouth dropped open. Son of a bitch. He couldn't see it—but he could see the shadow. A large ship was sitting somewhere out there. So _that's_ how his father was doing it.

"Reeeeleeease."

Jace looked down at the Raum demon just as it brought up what was left of it's severed arm and shoved him backward. Jace landed awkwardly but was back up in seconds. Bringing his blade up, he thrust it down hard toward the demon's heart. The demon screamed and kicked out again, sending Jace flying backwards and spinning all at once. He had to throw out his hands to keep from face-planting. When he looked up, the Raum demon was disappearing into the water. "Asshole," Jace said irritably as he pushed himself back onto his knees. And then he heard Clary scream and his heart jackhammered as he turned to see her holding _Nakir_ out in front of her, and the other Raum demon cowering back. Simon was running toward them as well. Panic flooded him then and he jumped to his feet and bolted toward her as fast as he could. The demon was sending out distress calls and moving toward the river, but he was more concerned with Clary to go after it. He reached her just as it slipped beneath the water. Breathing hard, he bent over to try to catch his breath while trying to make sure she was okay at the same time. "What—happened?" he demanded, looking her over. Her neck was red and so was her wrist.

"I don't know," Clary said, looking dumbfounded. "It came at me—I tried to fight it off—" Jace groaned. "—but it was too fast. And then it just _left._ Like it saw something that scared it."

"Are you all right?" Simon had reached them, looking worried but otherwise unharmed. Jace stood up, his eyes narrowing on the pipe in the leeches hands. _Are you fucking kidding me? What are you going to do—play fetch with the demon?_

"Where did you get that?" Jace snapped, his tone irritated. Simon, however, looked down at it in surprise—like he was just realizing he had it. Dumbass.

"I wrenched it off the side of a telephone pole," he said with near astonishment. And then he shrugged as if dismissing it. "I guess you can do anything when your adrenaline is up."

"Or when you have the unholy strength of the damned," Jace said flatly, rolling his eyes.

"Oh shut up, both of you," Clary said irritably, pushing past them and ignoring Jace's glare in the process. "Or have you forgotten about Luke?" she called over her shoulder. _No, _Jace thought bitterly, shoving his hands in his pockets—though in truth he had. He followed behind her, leaving Simon standing back with his lead pipe. Clary kneeled down next to Luke, who looked pale and dead. Jace might of even thought he _was_ dead if it weren't for the fact that he was breathing. He watched without saying anything as Clary gently pulled the fabric of his shirt away where it was torn. His shoulder was riddled with circular bright red marks where the tentacles had latched on with their suckers, and each one was leaking ichor and blood. "We have to get him inside," Clary breathed, reaching up and smoothing Luke's hair out of his face tenderly.

"I'll get him," Jace said softly, stepping forward. He had just kneeled down to pick Luke up when—

"Well that's a stupid idea," Simon said coming up behind them, and Jace turned around slowly, his brow raising with incredulity as he looked up at him. The leech only shrugged. "I'm the one with the super vampire strength. I'll carry him."

Jace pretended to consider this, before stating in a logical tone, "You're also an idiot who would probably trip on a branch along the way. I'd rather not risk it."

Simon flared up and flew toward Jace, who was on his feet in seconds, a grin on his face. _Please—please come at me. How I've been waiting for this rat boy. _But before either of them could do more than glare at each other, Clary was there shoving her way between them—a hand on each of their chests. "Are you both kidding me right now?" she snapped. "Save it! This isn't about either of you, so one of you—or both you—I really don't care—help him get inside!"

Jace took a step back, his eyes locking onto hers. "Of course. You're right, dear sister. Let me help _our_ uncle." Turning, he knelt back down and reached for Luke. To his annoyance, Simon was there in a flash and within seconds they had Luke's arms slung around each of them. They made a point not to look at one another as they walked slowly back. As they crossed the road, he saw Magnus come out of the house and then stop on the porch upon seeing them. "Raum demons." Jace said when they got closer, and the warlock nodded and snapped his fingers so that the door flew open in front of them.

"The wolf is in Luke's room," Magnus said in a tone that made Jace wonder if he was upset about something. The warlock sighed as they passed and then added, "Set him on the couch." Thinking maybe he was reading too much into it, Jace nodded and a minute later they had Luke resting as comfortably as they could in the spot the wolf girl had been before they left. Jace took a step back, allowing Magnus access to him. The leech followed suit. Clary, however, was hovering like a mother hen. Jace even thought he saw her bob her head a few times. All that was missing was the clucking.

"Will he be all right?" Clary asked on cue—_I stand corrected—_just as Magnus began to conjure a blue flame between his hands. The warlock looked at Clary like she was a particularly annoying fly before answering.

"He'll be fine," Magnus said in a clipped tone. "Raum poison is a little more complex than a Drevak sting, but nothing I can't handle." The warlock leaned toward Luke and then stopped when he noticed that Clary had done the same thing. He took a breath. "At least not if you don't get back and let me work."

Jace stifled a laugh and then felt Alec's hand on his shoulder. Turning they walked over toward the window. "What happened?" Alec asked.

"Raum demons—two of them. And not small by any means." Jace said, using his hands to give an idea of their size. He may have embellished just a bit, but he was sure that Alec got the point. Crossing his arms, he then leaned back on the window sill. "Either Luke went after them, or he was pulled from his truck. Regardless, when we found him he was unconscious and they were both on him."

"So where do you think they were taking him back to?" Alec asked turning to watch Magnus work. Jace, in turn, looked at Clary and saw her watching him from a chair she was sitting in now. He looked away quickly.

"What do you mean?" he asked, though he knew exactly what his _parabatai _meant.

"Come on, Jace," Alec said, crossing his own arms and leaning against the sill next to him. He was still watching Magnus. It was a moment before he turned to look back at Jace. "You know as well as I do that Raum's are retrievers."

_Yes, they are. _Jace thought about the shadow of the ship he had seen. And he knew exactly who was on it. "There's only one person I can think of," Jace said after awhile. "And I'm pretty sure you're thinking of the same person."

Alec grunted in response just as Clary jumped up from her seat. "He's all right!" Jace pushed himself off the window at the same time as Alec and walked over to Luke shoulder to shoulder with his _parabatai. _Simon was already next to Clary, and Jace bit the inside of his cheek as he saw the leech slip his hand in hers. At the same moment, he felt Alec's hand on his arm, his grip tight like he thought he might attack the stupid vampire. Jace tried to focus on Luke then and not on Clary and Simon—which was nearly impossible.

"So he'll live?" the bloodsucker asked as Magnus took a seat on the armrest of the chair Clary had been sitting in only moments before. He looked exhausted. Jace never considered that doing magic exhausted warlocks. "You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Magnus snapped at Simon, and while Jace approved of anyone who wanted to yell at the leech—he also couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with him. He remembered all to well the demeanor the warlock had had when they first returned. "I'm the High Warlock of Brooklyn," Magnus continued. "I know what I'm doing."

Jace leaned toward Alec, who had suddenly let go of his arm. "What happened while we were gone?" Alec gave a stiff shake of his head, but said nothing.

"Which reminds me," Magnus said suddenly, his voice taut as he pushed himself up a little straighter, "that I'm not exactly sure what it is you think you're doing, calling on me every time one of you has so much as an ingrown toenail that needs clipping." Jace turned and saw that the warlock was glaring at him with something that might have just been above hatred. _What the hell did I do? _Jace wondered with bewilderment. This bewilderment soon became anger as Magnus continued. "As High Warlock, my time is valuable. There are plenty of lesser warlocks who'd be happy to do a job for you at a greatly reduced rate."

Clary's mouth popped open in shock. "You're _charging _us? But Luke is a friend!"

Magnus looked unimpressed with her tirade, and Jace could feel his heart begin to pound furiously. "Not a friend of mine," the warlock said dismissively pulling a thin blue cigarette out of his pocket. _What the fuck is his problem? _"I met him only on the few occasions when your mother brought him along when your memory spells were being refreshed." he continued, passing a multi-colored flame that he sparked from his finger over the tip of his cigarette. Jace felt himself go rigid. Was he really bringing that up? And was he really throwing the whole memory thing in her face now? And then the warlock glared up at Jace as he took a drag of his cigarette. "Did you think I was helping you out of the goodness of my heart? Or am I just the only warlock you happen to know?"

"No," Jace said, his voice quiet as he stared at the warlock with anger. "But you _are_ the only warlock we know who happens to be dating a friend of ours." _How dare we think that for that reason, you were a friend as well and turn to you for help, _Jace added silently. It would not be a mistake he made again. When he looked around, he realized that everyone had gone silent. Simon stared at him with confusion, Clary was shaking her head—her eyes wide, and Magnus was looking at him with shock and anger. But it was Alec who completely lost it.

"Why would you say something like that?" he blurted out suddenly, his voice shaking, and Jace frowned as he turned to look at him. He was pale, his eyes wide.

"Something like what?" he asked confused. Why was he looking so mortified? But Alec only shook his head and pointed at Magnus.

"That I'm dating—that we're—it's not _true," _Alec practically shouted the last part, and Jace raised a brow at the octave change. He was pretty sure that Alec had already gone through puberty, so what in the Angel's name was that? And then it hit him—he was _still_ trying to deny it. He still would rather he didn't know. Jace wasn't sure whether to be hurt by this or angry.

Crossing his arms, he stared fixedly at his _parabatai._ "I didn't say he was dating _you," _he said pointedly, "but funny that you knew just what I meant, isn't it?"

"We're not dating." Alec said stubbornly, and Jace wanted to shake him. To demand the truth. Apparently, Magnus wasn't all that thrilled by his denial either.

"Oh?" The warlock perked up suddenly, his cat-like eyes mockingly wide. "So you're just that friendly with everybody, is that it?"

Alec spun on Magnus, his blue eyes pleading. "_Magnus—"_

But Magnus had no desire to hear it. Jace watched as the warlock glared daggers at Alec and then slouched back in the chair with his arms across his chest. He said nothing else, but he didn't need to. Jace could tell he was hurting. He looked back at his brother, unsure of what to say. Unsure why he would even feel the need to hide it from him. When he met his gaze, Alec shook his head again, still trying to deny it. "You don't—" Alec swallowed, his eyes still wide and now avoiding Magnus's gaze. "I mean, you couldn't possibly think—"

Jace held up a hand, stopping him—his head shaking as he looked at his _parabatai. _Now he was hurt. After all this—after everything they had been through, he was still going to stand there and try to lie about it? Maybe this wasn't the way he should have gone about it, sure, but there was no changing that now. The least Alec could do was be honest. He looked at Clary and saw that she had been stunned into silence, her eyes bouncing between the three of them. "What I don't get," he finally said, turing saddened eyes up at Alec, "is you going to all these lengths to hide your relationship with Magnus from me when it's not as if I would mind if you _did _tell me about it." Alec was his _parabatai. _His brother. His best friend. Didn't he realize that he would stand beside him no matter what? That he loved him no matter what? Jace looked at him and—apparently Alec didn't realize any of those things, because he was ashen and looking as if he had just been slapped. What the hell? Jace turned pleading eyes to Magnus. He had talked about these things with the warlock a couple times now. He knew that Jace was telling the truth. "Help me convince him," he implored, taking a step toward the warlock while gesturing at Alec, "that I really don't care."

"Oh," Magnus said, his tone soft as he looked past Jace to Alec. "I think he believes you about that."

Jace frowned, looking between the two of them. What the hell was going on then? What the hell was it that he was missing? He wanted to pull his hair out. If Alec believed that he was okay with him and Magnus . . . "Then I don't—"

"Jace." It was Clary, and Jace looked instantly to her like he always would when she said his name. She wore a look of caution and sympathy that he didn't understand. When he raised a confused brow, she shook her head. "That's enough. Let it alone."

"Let what alone?" Everyone turned to look at Luke who was staring up at them all as he gripped his injured shoulder. Jace noticed him wince a couple times, but he looked a lot better. When he looked at Clary and saw the smile that stretched across her face upon seeing him, he knew it was worth it.

"Luke!" she cried out then and sprinted to the couch. She stood there as if torn about something, before crouching down next to the armrest, her elbows digging into it as she looked up at him. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Not really?" Luke said, rubbing at his temples. "The last thing I remember was going out to the truck. Something hit my shoulder and jerked me sideways. I remember the most incredible pain—" Luke turned to look at Clary, who was staring at him in horror. "Anyway," he said sitting up and switching tracks. "I must have passed out after that. The next thing I knew I was listening to five people shouting." He cast his gaze at Jace. "What was that all about, anyway?"

Without missing a beat, Clary, Alec, Jace, Simon, and Magnus all chorused the same thing. "Nothing."

Jace nearly laughed, but catching the look on Magnus and Alec's face, he stifled it. Luke on the other hand, passed his disbelieving gaze over each of them before they rested on Clary once more. "I see." _Oh, I don't think you do, _Jace thought. And it was probably better that he didn't see either. But then again, Jace didn't think he understood much more than he did—and he was there. He couldn't understand why Alec wouldn't be thrilled that Jace not only knew the truth about him and Magnus, but was okay with it—happy even. He had noticed quite the change in Alec as of late, and he was sure that the warlock had something to do with it. Sitting up, Luke grunted. "Well, I think I'm going to go to bed."

"You kind of can't," Clary said, looking up at Jace and then at Magnus.

"What do you mean 'kind of can't?'" Luke asked, his brows furrowing.

"Maia is sleeping in there," Clary explained.

"Oh." And then he looked guilty. "How is she doing?"

"Much better—thanks to Magnus. In fact," Clary looked back at Magnus pointedly. "I don't think either of you would be here had he not come. We owe him so much—he was _amazing_."

Jace looked at Magnus, his lips ticking upward at Clary's words. He knew exactly what she was doing. And so did Magnus it seemed, who was watching her with slitted eyes. But he couldn't hide his own smile that was traitorously making its way across his face. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Clarissa," Magnus said flatly. "And I prefer 'magnificent,' for anyone can be 'amazing.'"

Clary grinned while Luke raised an eyebrow. "Magnificent, then—and thank you." Clary said, staring intently at the warlock until he waved her away. Turning back to Luke, Clary smile. "You can have my room."

"Nonsense," he said immediately. "I'm fine right here."

"But your shoulder—"

"Clary," Luke cut her off. "Me and this couch are old friends. I'll be fine."

Jace knew she was not going to win this one and so did, it seemed, Clary. Sighing she got to her feet. "At least let me make up the couch for you then." Luke smiled and nodded, and Clary turned and disappeared down the hall.

Jace looked around at the others. Magnus was getting to his feet and cast a glance at Alec before exiting out the front door. Alec stared after the warlock but did not follow. He looked like a lost puppy. Rolling his eyes, Jace took a sideways step toward his _parabatai_ and shoved him toward the door. Alec spun on him, his eyes wide, but Jace merely crossed his arms and gave him a look that clearly said _"go." _It was a second, but Alec finally turned and exited out the door as well. When he turned back around, he saw that Luke was lying with his head back and his eyes closed. Simon was no longer in the room either—though he wasn't sure where the bloodsucker went. Nor did he care. Reaching back behind his head, he massaged the back of his neck roughly. He wasn't really sure what he should do now. Down the hall he heard the opening and closing of a door. Clary was down there—just the thought sent his heart spasming. If ever there was a time to talk to her, he supposed it was now. But the idea of actually doing it made him nervous. He would rather take on another demon. But he also felt like he deserved an explanation. He bit the inside of his cheek as he heard a door open again. Fuck it. Moving forward, he rounded the corner of the hall and saw her at the end of it. She was on her tip toes pulling down a large comforter, and he came up behind her quietly. A moment later, she whirled, the blanket falling into a pile at her feet. He could see the surprise on her face, and see the beating of her pulse in her throat as she looked up at him with both shock and relief and something else that sent his own pulse racing.

"Sorry to startle you," he said softly as he watched her tug absently on one of her curls. He missed that.

"It's fine," she said as she bent down to retrieve the fallen comforter. Jace leaned against the wall, watching her.

"Actually, I'm not sorry," he said suddenly, and she looked up at him before standing up completely. Her brows knitted together in confusion, her Idris eyes gleaming in the dim light of the hallway—something else he missed. Yeah, definitely not sorry. "That's the most emotion I've seen from you in days," he explained.

"I haven't seen you in days," she said pointedly, as if he didn't already know this.

"And whose fault is that?" he asked softly—almost pleadingly. And he could hear the light desperation in his voice. _Four days_ he wanted to remind her. "I've called you," he continued when she said nothing. "You don't pick up the phone. And it's not as if I could simply come see you. I've been in prison, in case you've forgotten."

"Not exactly prison," she said trying to keep her tone light. But Jace wasn't fooled. He could see the pain in her eyes. He could see the sadness in the way her shoulders slumped. "You've got Magnus to keep you company," she offered. "And _Gilligan's Island."_

"_Gilligan's Island _and those that reside there can all go fuck themselves," Jace retorted, crossing his arms. This wasn't a joke. Didn't she realize that? Didn't she think he deserved an explanation? He was in a living hell not talking to her; which was saying something seeing as how he had to endure Magnus every day. He knew his eyes were pleading with her—knew he was showing his vulnerability, but he couldn't help it. He loved her—was _in love_ with her. He knew he shouldn't be. Knew it was wrong. Knew she was his sister. But nothing would change that, and her ignoring him was the worst punishment he could think of.

Hugging the comforter even tighter to her, and reminding Jace of how she had done that with his shirt back at the Institute, Clary sighed. "Aren't you supposed to be leaving with Magnus?"

Jace bit the inside of his cheek as his stomach plummeted. Really? That was how she was going to respond? He swallowed back the pain and fought to keep his face from showing what he knew his eyes wouldn't be able to hide. "Can't wait to get rid of me?"

"No," she breathed, her eyes dropping down to Jace's hands. He looked down too, trying to process that, and found that he had been absently rubbing at the empty spot where his family ring used to sit. "I mean, no, it's not that," she said looking back up at him, her Idris eyes glistening and reminding Jace of a rainy day in the summer back at the manor. "I don't hate you, Jace."

Her words unlocked a hardness in his chest, and he felt like he could breathe again. But her eyes . . . her beautiful eyes. Eyes that were home. _Please don't cry, _he wanted to beg her. He would do anything to keep her from crying. Her tears were like a tidal wave that crashed around him. He wanted so badly to touch her. To pull her against him where he knew she fit him perfectly. He didn't. Instead he said, "I don't hate you either."

And he saw her body relax as she looked up at him with relief. "I'm glad to hear that."

Jace looked at her carefully. It wasn't lost on him that this was the longest they had talked in days. Four days. He remembered how he had felt, being ignored. And he was worried that after he left, she would go back to ignoring him. It dawned on him then that this was the time to be honest. To say what he was feeling . . . if he could. He took a breath. "I wish I could hate you," he said truthfully, but trying to make his tone light—and knowing it didn't reach the misery in his eyes. "I want to hate you," he whispered then, looking down at his hands. "I try to hate you. It would be so much easier if I did hate you. Sometimes I think I do hate you—" Jace lifted his golden gaze to meet her emerald one. _And then this happens. And then I fall even more in love with you. _He swallowed nervously. "—and then I see you and I—"

"And you what?" Clary breathed, her chest heaving underneath the blanket that she was holding tight.

"What do you _think?"_ Jace asked dejectedly. And then he shook his head. "Why should I tell you everything about how I feel when you never tell me anything?" _Four days! _"It's like banging my head on a wall, except at least if I were banging my head on a wall, I'd be able to make myself stop."

Clary's full lips trembled at his words, her eyes filling with unshed tears, and it pained him. It physically and emotionally pained him. "Do you think it's easy for me?" she breathed angrily, her voice catching several times. "Do you think—"

"Clary?" It was Simon. Clary jumped, dropping the blanket again and Jace closed his eyes. Why—_why—_was the rat boy's timing always so fucking impeccable? Nothing was said as Jace tried to take calming breaths to keep himself from chucking the bloodsucker out of the house. Finally, from behind him, he heard the leech speak. "I see—sorry to interrupt." It was all he said, and quite frankly Jace didn't believe him. All the same, he opened his eyes and turned to see that Simon was gone.

_"__Damn _it," Clary said suddenly and Jace looked down at her as she rounded on him, her watery eyes lit with a fire that would have sent most people cowering back. "What is it about you?" She demanded to his confusion. "Why do you have to ruin _everything?"_

Jace blinked in shock as she shoved the blanket at him and then shot past him and out of the hall to chase down the vampire. He wasn't sure how long he stood there. At some point Magnus and Alec had come back in—he could hear them in the living room. But he couldn't move. She had said that he ruined everything. At first it had confused him. Now it just pissed him off. _He _ruined everything? _He ruined—_last time Jace had checked, it had been _Simon _who had gotten himself turned into a rat. _Simon_ who had bit Raphael. _Simon _who decided to walk out on Jace and Clary kissing on her birthday. _Simon _who had insisted on coming down to the Seelie Court with them. And _Simon_ who had gotten himself turned into a vampire. So how the fuck was it that _he _was the one who ruined everything? Also by Jace's count, it was _he _who had gone and rescued the stupid rat-boy from Hotel Dumort. _He _who had warned him about the Seelie Court. And _he _who had helped to bury him so that his stupid bloodsucking ass could live! Jace ran his hands roughly through his hair as he chewed on the side of his cheek.

"Jace?" It was Alec. "What are you doing?"

Jace looked down at the comforter he was still holding and realized how it must look. He decided to not go with the truth. Somehow, _'trying to confess my love for my sister, to my sister—again—when the leech interrupted and sent her running off to console his pouting bloodsucking ass,' _sounded just as bad in his head as he was sure it would out loud. Instead, he shrugged and followed Alec out of the hall. He handed the blanket to Luke, who took it but said nothing. "So are we going?" he asked after looking around and not seeing Clary anywhere.

"No," Magnus said from the chair he was sitting in. Jace noticed he was looking a bit happier. Good, at least someone was. "I want to observe Luke a little longer," the warlock continued, gesturing to him.

"I'm fine," Luke protested tiredly. "Perfectly healthy."

"Says the guy who suffers from an extreme case of lycanthropy," Magnus retorted, earning a glare from the wolf. "We're staying," he said unfazed just as Clary walked through the door alone. She came up short seeing Jace standing there staring at her.

"Great," he said blandly. "Wonderful." Turning, he avoided Alec's concerned gaze as he made his way to a piano that had been shoved into a corner and pulled out the bench. Picking up the sheet music, he stared at it—determined to be the one to ignore Clary this time. He couldn't even begin to tell everyone how _happy_ he was that they were staying.

It wouldn't be awkward at all.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: <strong>Yay! Another chapter done! As usual, I hope you enjoy the chapter. This one had a lot of, um, "deleted scenes" that I decided were just a bit too . . . um . . . yeah, so anyway, I had to take some time in filling them in. Please let me know what you think! As always, thank you to ALL of my amazing readers! _


	13. Disappointments

**~Chapter Twelve~**

**Disappointments**

If you wanted something done right, you have to do it yourself. That was what Valentine was starting to realize. After learning of wolf girls whereabouts, he had sent the Raum demons to get her. That had been quite some time ago, and he was still waiting for them. He was starting to think they would never come. Agramon had stated, much to Valentine's irritation, that he should have sent it to go fetch the girl. Annoyed, he had sent the Fear demon away. He did not do well with gloating. Granted, the demon may have had a point. But what was done was done. Now he could only sit and wait. The steady rocking of the ship was gentle and Valentine closed his eyes. It wouldn't be very long before he opened them again. The wailing and screeching was frustratingly hard to sleep through. Getting to his feet, he slid Maellartach into his belt, smoothed down his grey suit, adjusted his dark grey tie, and then exited the Captain's Quarters, making his way slowly toward the agonizing sound. Judging by the night sky and the position of the moon, he had slept later than he had first thought. Curious. He hadn't even thought himself tired.

He paid little attention to his surroundings as he walked. They were of no importance to him. He did not fear the demons that were here—or those that hung just beyond the boundaries of the earth waiting to be summoned. He ruled them. He was their king, so to speak. Their master. And as their master, he was the one to be feared. Up ahead, he saw the ghostly white Raum demons. One was badly injured and was already folding in on itself. He arrived just in time to see the missing limbs before it disappeared for good. Valentine frowned and turned on the other one. "What happened?" He asked, almost bored. But the remaining Raum demon just stared up at him with it's orb-like onyx eyes. This one was uninjured and whole. Valentine turned slowly, his eyes sweeping the nearby deck. Nothing. He took a steadying breath before smiling back at the demon. But this was not a nice or reassuring smile. This was a smile to be feared. A calm before the storm. "Where is the wolf girl?"

The demon shook its horned head, it's large eyes doing their grotesque double-lidded blink. "I see." Valentine said softly, for indeed he did. He saw very clearly. They had failed to bring her back. He felt rage surge through him, but was careful not to show it on his face. Removing Maellartach from his belt, he held it to the Raum demon's throat where he knew one of it's hearts were hidden. His hand was steady and his gaze was bored, despite the angry inferno surging through him. "Tell me," he began casually, "what the point of summoning retriever demons is, if they can't even retrieve what it is you sent them for?" Before the demon could respond—before it could even raise a tentacle in protest—Valentine lopped its head off, making sure to slice through it's heart in the process. Black coated the blade and he looked at it in disgust. Looking down at the demon, he bent down and used it's writhing body to clean the blade before it could disappear back into the void.

He sighed as he stood back up. He understood now why it had taken them so long to return. Aside from being retrievers, Raum's were also pack demons. With one injured, the other would have stopped to try and heal it before returning. Valentine supposed the injuries were just to severe for it to succeed. Maybe it hoped their master would have healed it instead. Taking a steadying breath, Valentine shook his head and looked up at the heavens. Just how long had they took to return, he wondered. There really was no telling. He supposed he would have to send Agramon after all. Sheathing the Angel Sword, he made his way below deck where he knew the Greater demon usually resided. He walked slowly, wondering what had happened. Earlier, only one of the two Drevak's he had sent, returned—and with the news that the girl was at Lucian's home. It was also reported that the wolf-man had killed the other Drevak. Valentine had considered this before sending the Raum's. In the end, he had thought that one wolf pup and an old wolf man would not be a match for two Raum's. Regardless of being an ex-Shadowhunter. So the fact that they had succeeded angered him. But then . . . maybe he should have expected this. He had chosen the girl simply because she was apart of Lucian's pack. An act of hubris that he would succeed so easily. He _would _succeed next time. And he still would not change his mind about the wolf girl. He wanted not just Lucian's pack to see that their leader could not protect them—but he wanted to drive that point home to Lucian as well.

Rounding a corner of the stairwell, he was so lost in thoughts, that the scene in front of him didn't register at first. And then he saw the golden blonde boy fall, his head slamming hard into the ground. Jonathan had come back—and had met Agramon. Valentine hung back for a moment longer, watching. A little fear could do his son some good. There was also the nagging question of, 'how had his son found him?' If his son had so easily found him, then who else could find him just as easily? This was not something that sat well with him. He had chosen this place on the river for a reason—and those reasons should have kept him from being found by anyone. Even his son. He waited until the black quivering Fear demon positioned himself over his unmoving son before he finally moved forward. "Stop." It was not a word he said with any urgency. It was more like he couldn't care less whether the demon listened or not.

"This one is an intruder," the demon said, sounding almost as bored as Valentine.

"That one is my son," Valentine said, crossing his arms and frowning down at Jonathan. Just as quickly, he wiped the frown from his face and turned to look back up at the Greater demon. "The Raum's have returned without the girl. I will now be tasking you with this job. I want the wolf girl. Her particularly. _Do not _fail me as they have."

Agramon continued to hover over Jonathan, but was looking at Valentine—who had the distinct feeling that the demon was still slowly draining his son's life source. He said nothing though. He would not allow it to kill his son completely, and Jonathan wouldn't remember this part anyway. Finally, the Greater demon nodded its large pulsing head and slithered back into the shadows of the ship. Taking a step forward, Valentine looked down at his son. Even being unconscious, Jonathan looked tired. He had dark circles under his eyes and bruises grazing his arms and cheekbone. He was looking thinner than he had the last time he saw him—granted he hadn't been that well off then either. He had been placed in the Silent City prison simply for being his son. He was dressed in black Shadowhunter gear, and it made his already pale face even whiter. Valentine narrowed his eyes at the boy speculatively. Perhaps he had come back to him because he had finally learned that he spoke the truth. No one would accept him. No one would trust him. Only his father would want him. And Valentine had to admit that the prospect of bringing light and dark together would be a nice perk. One he had always planned. It would make him unstoppable then. Bending down, he lifted his son lightly in his arms.

Back up on deck, he deposited Jonathan onto the ground and then stepped back and took a seat on a stack of bound flattened boxes. He sat there, watching his son, wondering how he found him and what could have brought him here. What had him looking so haggard? He didn't look as if he had been sleeping well. At least not before now. The corner of Valentines lips ticked upward into a smirk. Leaning back, he looked up at the night sky. To the unsuspecting world, there were only stars. But he knew there was more. So much more. A groan captured his attention and he tore his eyes away from the sky to look back down at Jonathan. He was propping himself up on his elbows. Valentine leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he took in the the grimace on his son's face. "That was a nasty knock to the head you got," he observed. "How do you feel?"

Jace bolted upright at the sound of Valentine's voice, and then bit back on a gasp of pain, his eyes un-focusing for a moment as if he had been hit by a wave of dizziness and nausea. Perhaps he was concussed. "I feel like hell."

It was all he said, but it was enough to bring a smile to Valentine's lips. Of course he felt like hell. He had had an encounter with a Greater Fear Demon and lived to tell the tale. Not to mention whatever it was that brought him here in the first place. Which— "I have another obvious question for you," he said, looking down at his son intently. "How did you find me?"

Jace looked up at him with his golden eyes both defiant and just a little proud before answering. "I tortured it out of one of your Raum demons," he said, rubbing at the back of his head. "You're the one who taught me where they keep their hearts." Valentine's bit back on an approving smile as he remembered the maimed demon. So it had been Jonathan who had killed it, proving that all his son's lessons had not been lost on him. This pleased him much more than the alternative. "I threatened it," continued Jonathan, "and it told me—well, they're not very bright, but it managed to tell me it had come from a ship on the river. I looked up and saw the shadow of your boat on the water. It told me you summoned it too, but I already knew that."

Of course he did, Valentine thought. Out loud, however, all he said was, "I see." He should have known better than to think that the man wolf—Lucian—would be able to take on his demons alone. He didn't care for the idea of Jonathan helping the wolf, but he was still glad it had been him and not his former _parabatai. _And then Valentine watched as his son rubbed at his head once more and looked around suspiciously. He had no one but himself to blame for the pain he was in. "Next time you should at least tell me you're coming before you drop by. It would save you nasty run-in with my guards."

"Guards?" Jonathan asked raising a brow as he leaned himself back against the metal railing. He was taking slow and steady breaths. He was weak, Valentine noted—either from whatever had happened before he had gotten here, or by Agramon, he wasn't sure. But all the same, he didn't care for a weak son. He didn't show it though. He kept his face impassive as his Jonathan continued. "You mean demons, don't you?" His voice was flat. "You used the Sword to summon them."

"I don't deny that," Valentine smiled, his arms wide. "Lucian's beasts shattered my army of Forsaken, and I had neither time nor inclination to create more. Now that I have the Mortal Sword, I no longer need them. I have others." At his words, Jonathan blanched and then put his hand to his head, his breathing becoming faster. Curious. And then he met Valentine's dark eyes with his own light golden ones and he could see in them a sort of panic.

"That thing in the stairwell," Jonathan swallowed. "It wasn't Clary, was it?"

"Clary?" Valentine raised a brow. "Is that what you saw?" It took him quite a bit to hide his surprise, and he had still not managed completely. Even he could hear it in his tone—though it had been mild. The revelation also amused him greatly. So Jonathan's biggest fear was either of or for Clarissa. If he only knew the irony of that, Valentine mused. But his son did not seem to share the amused sentiment.

"Why wouldn't it be what I saw?" Jonathan asked, and Valentine could hear the tightness in his tone. The shift of his body. And the intake of breath. Oh, dear Jonathan—he always did wear his heart on his sleeve. It seemed that while time had changed a lot about him, it had not changed that. Pity. He would rather an unemotional soldier than a love sick puppy. His son looked back at him defiantly then, as if knowing what Valentine was doing—what assumptions he would come to. But then—he was here, Valentine reminded himself. He had left the others behind to be here, so perhaps he would be able to put the inconsequential things, such as his feelings for Clarissa, behind him as well. For that reason, he decided to tell his son the truth of what he had seen.

"What you encountered in the stairwell," he began, "was Agramon—" Jonathan's eyes widened at this. "—the Demon of Fear. Agramon takes the form of whatever most terrifies you. When it is done feeding on your terror, it kills you, presuming you are still alive at that point. Most men—and women—die of fear before that. You are to be congratulated for holding out as long as you did."

"Agramon?" his son said in shock, looking at Valentine in disbelief. "That's a Greater Demon. Where did you get a hold of _that?" _

At this, Valentine smiled fully. "I paid a young and hubristic warlock to summon it for me. He thought that if the demon remained inside his pentagram, he could control it. Unfortunately for him, his greatest fear was that a demon he summoned would break the wards of the pentagram and attack him, and that's exactly what happened when Agramon came through."

Jonathan looked down at his lap. "So that's how he died."

"How who died?" Valentine asked, his tone curious but bored.

"The warlock," his son said, meeting his gaze with anger. "His name was Elias. he was sixteen. But you knew that, didn't you? The Ritual of Infernal Conversion—"

And then Valentine laughed. He knew? Of course he knew. Why wouldn't he and all the rest of them know? "You _have_ been busy, haven't you?" And why shouldn't they know? In fact, this pleased him more than he thought it would. It was then that he realized just how disappointed he would have been if they hadn't figured it out. Especially since he knew that there was not a damned thing they could do to stop him. And then he smiled at his son. "So you know why I sent those demons to Lucian's house, don't you?" Jonathan had to know he wanted the girl. But when had he figured it out, he wondered. It was a moment before his son spoke. And then,

"You wanted Maia," Jonathan conceded. "Because she's a werewolf child. You need her blood."

Valentine nodded, pleased with his son. "I sent the Drevak demons to spy out what there was to see at Lucian's and report back to me. Lucian killed one, but when the other reported the presence of a young lycanthrope—"

"You sent the Raum demons to take her." Jonathan cut him off. Valentine felt a flurry of anger at having been interrupted, but did not allow it to show. "Because Luke is fond of her and you wanted to hurt him if you could—which is low, even for you."

Anger coursed through Valentine in that moment as he glared at his son. His did not care that they knew that he wanted the wolf girl, or what he wanted her for. But for his son to know his ulterior motive for choosing that wolf in-particular—and then calling him out on it? He took a small breath to steady himself, wiping the anger from his face. He had realized after what had happened at Renwicks, that Jonathan was not at fault for his insubordinance—but the Lightwoods. He was without his father for seven years. Allowed to develop this unpleasing knack for disobedience. When his son joined him, this would be rectified. But there was something more about Jonathan than just rudeness and mockery and even the over-sensitivity. And that was his obstinance. With this thought, Valentine laughed.

"I admire your stubbornness," he said with mirth. "It's so much like mine." Getting to his feet, he looked up at the sky and what lay beyond it and, making a snap decision, turned and offered Jonathan his hand. "Come. Walk around the deck with me. There's something I want to show you." His hand hung in the air, and Valentine knew that it would signify a moment of trust between father and son if he took it. But he would not leave this window open indefinitely. And Jonathan seemed to know that as he looked at it questioningly. Slowly, he reached for it. His sons hand was warm but strong, and Valentine grasped it firmly, pleased, as he pulled his son to his feet. He let it go just as quickly. Seeing his son rub at his head again, and looking at the bruises that grazed Jonathan's skin, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his stele. "Let me take those injuries away," he said, holding his hand out to his son once more. But it seemed that trust only went so far as Jonathan hesitated and then backed away.

"I don't want your help," he said, but Valentine wasn't fazed by this. Jonathan was always someone he had to take great care with. A child that needed reassuring. But he also knew that too much reassurance would ruin the boy. Instead he stuck the stele back in his pocket.

"As you like." Turning, he began to walk away from his son. Not because he had been hurt by Jonathan's refusal of help by him—far from it. But because he knew what was best for his son. And because his son was predictable. He needed his father's approval, and he knew that Jonathan would follow him. Clasping his hands behind his back, he began speaking—knowing that his son would hear it. "As I have said before, the Clave is wrong," he began. "They are corrupt and they want us all to cow down to them. I want freedom from this, much as Lucifer wanted freedom from the rules of heaven. But you know what has been said about that . . . if I recall correctly, you are in fact familiar with Milton's _Paradise Lost?" _he asked, knowing that he was.

"You only made me read it ten or fifteen times," Jonathan said flatly from behind him, and Valentine smiled. He had been right in knowing his son would follow. "It's better to reign in hell than to serve in heaven, etcetera, and so on," his son finished.

Valentine's lips thinned. Pleased or not, that was not his point. "_Non serviam," _he corrected. "It is what Lucifer had inscribed upon his banner when he rode with his host of rebel angels against a corrupt authority."

Jonathan frowned at this. "What's your point?"

But hadn't he made it? Valentine sighed heavily. "Some say Milton was on the devil's side, himself. His Satan is certainly a more interesting figure that his God." He stopped, and seeing the weakened state of his son, decided to go no further and lean against the guard rail instead. See? He was not such a bad father, was he? Jonathan quickly joined him there. Together, side by side, they looked out at what this world had to offer them. But Valentine was sure that he saw so much more than his son. His son didn't see the demons that were frozen—suspended neither in this world or theirs. But waiting. Waiting for the moment when their master would call them down. They would aide him in succeeding where he had failed. And when they were done, he would dispose of them as well. But would his son be there as well? Would Jonathan fight for him and beside him? He was here, wasn't he? And yet, Valentine had made the mistake of thinking his son would join him before. That was not a mistake he intended to make twice. And after what happened at the Silent City—turning to look at Jonathan, he watched in silence as his son stared up at the sky. He would need to ask, he decided. He would have to be sure. "Why are you here Jonathan?" He asked, and his son slowly turned to gaze blankly at him. "I wondered after I saw you at the Bone City if your hatred for me was implacable. I had nearly given up on you."

Turning away, Jonathan stared out at the water. It was a moment before he spoke, taking a breath as he did. "The Queen of the Seelie Court wanted me to ask you a question," he said quietly. "She told me to ask you what blood runs in my veins."

Now this—this was not what Valentine had been expecting, and he could not stop the surprise his face surely showed. "You spoke with the Queen?" he asked, keeping his tone from expressing the emotion that his face certainly betrayed. He waited, but Jonathan said nothing, and his face gave away nothing. Anger quickly replaced the surprise he felt at seeing his son's stubbornness. Or perhaps it was the betrayal of the Queen that angered him. Who was she to send his son to ask him such questions? She knew the full weight of that question better than anyone. But looking at Jonathan, it was clear that he did not. He was just a messenger sent by the Queen—a reminder to Valentine of what she knew. Nothing more. "It is the way of the Folk," he said slowly, having decided on giving his son the truth—and knowing he would never realize the full implication of it. "Everything they say has more than one meaning. Tell her, if she asks again, that the blood of the Angel runs in your veins."

"And in every Shadowhunter's veins," Jonathan said, and Valentine noted the disappointment in his voice. But he need not be disappointed. Some would go to great lengths have the blood of an Angel. In fact, he had gone to lengths that no other but him would dare. And then his son looked at him, pulling him away from his thoughts. "You wouldn't lie to the Queen of the Seelie Court, would you?"

Valentine's jaw locked as his patience grew short. He had given his son the truth, and should he ever speak with the Queen again, she would know that as well. But he also didn't want his son looking too closely at his answer. "No," he answered tightly. The truth was a many layered beast, best left untouched until it was time. It was time to change the subject—to put this back onto Jonathan. "And you wouldn't come here just to ask me that ridiculous question. Why are you really here, Jonathan?"

He looked at his son, and saw his shoulders slump. His eyes softened, showing the pain in them. "I had to talk to someone," he said, his voice giving away the grief he was trying so hard to hide and Valentine made sure to keep the smile from showing on his face. His son had needed someone, and he had come to him—to his father. "The Lightwoods—I'm nothing but trouble for them—" _I told you being my son would do that._ "—Luke must hate me by now—" Valentine bristled at his son's despair regarding the beast's possible lack of affection. "—The Inquisitor wants me dead—" _Of course she does, after what happened to Stephen. _"—I did something to hurt Alec and I'm not even sure what . . ." His voice fell away and he shook his head. Valentine watched him, saying nothing. There was one he had not mentioned during this little pity party of his. And yet, it seemed to be the one he feared most.

"And your sister?" Valentine asked. "What about Clarissa?"

Jonathan was unable to hide the swallow in his throat, or the slight widening of his eyes, but when he spoke, his tone was void of emotion. "She's not too pleased with me either," he said, avoiding his father's gaze. And then he was quick to change the subject—something Valentine noticed immediately and with much amusement. "I remember what you said in the Bone City," his son said. "That you never got the chance to tell me the truth. I don't trust you—" at this he met his father's dark eyes. "—I want you to know that. But I thought I'd give you a chance to tell me _why."_

Valentine decided to let the topic of Clarissa go, as he thought about what his son had said. Perhaps . . . just perhaps this was the moment that he would sway Jonathan. Perhaps this was why he was here—to join his father, but needing to know that it was for the right reason. And it was—he could promise his son that. He could feel the emotion's stirring within him, and he bit them all back. Trust went two ways. And then there was his question of 'why'. But there was so much that went beyond that. This was the boy he had raised to be a soldier. And a true soldier knew the truth—there was never just one reason. "You have to ask me more than why, Jonathan." He said earnestly and honestly, biting back on the revulsion that letting his pride go brought him. But his son would need to hear that humility in his voice if he were to believe him. And the look of surprise on Jonathan's face told him that he was right. Valentine took a breath. "There are so many _whys."_

Jonathan didn't hesitate. "Why did you kill the Silent Brother's? Why did you take the Mortal Sword? What are you planning? Why wasn't the Mortal Cup enough for you—" he cut off the spewing of questions just as quickly as they had started pouring out of his mouth, his cheeks burning crimson. Valentine remained unfazed as he looked at his son.

"You know what I want," he shrugged. He had said it before. "The Clave is hopelessly corrupt and must be destroyed and built again. Idris must be freed from the influence of the degenerate races, and Earth made proof against the demonic threat."

"Yeah, about demonic threat," Jonathan said flatly, looking around the ship's deck. "I thought you hated demons. Now you use them like servants. The Ravener, the Drevak demons, Agramon—they're your _employees._ Guards, butler—personal chef, for all I know."

_Don't be ridiculous, Jonathan,_ Valentine thought as he turned and stared out over the river. But he could understand where his son was coming from as well. What else would he think, what with the company his father had been keeping—granted he _could_ point out that Lucian had killed Pangborn and Blackwell. He decided there was nothing to be gained from doing so, however, and instead began drumming his finger against the rail. "I am no friend to demons," he said finally. "I am Nephilim, no matter how much I might think the Covenant is useless and the Law fraudulent. A man doesn't have to agree with his country to be a patriot, does he? It takes a true patriot to dissent, to say he love his country more than he cares for his own place in the social order. I've been vilified for my choice, forced into hiding, banished from Idris. But I am—I always will be—Nephilim. I can't change the blood in my veins if I wished to—and I don't." He looked at his son to see that Jonathan was watching him with a look of both longing and regret. Or so that's what it could have been. Either way, it made him curious. "Do you?" he asked. Did his son no longer wish to have the gifts his father had given him—to no longer be much more than Nephilim? Jonathan looked away quickly.

"No," he said. "I don't."

Valentine looked at his son, his brow raised. "You're a Shadowhunter forever?"

Jonathan's face was hard. "I am," he nodded, "in the end, what you made me."

"Good." While his son couldn't possibly know the truth of his words, it still pleased Valentine to hear it. "That's what I wanted to hear." That, and he couldn't bear the idea of having a son who half-assed everything or regretted who he was—not with what was a stake. Not with what he could lose. That would not be the boy he had raised—and would therefore be no son of his. He relaxed again, and stared back over the water, leaning lightly on the rail. "This is a war," he said heavily. "The only question is, what side will you fight on?"

"I thought we were all in the same side. I thought it was us against the demon world—"

"If only it could be," Valentine cut him off. Jonathan was still so innocent it would seem. And here, his son had come to him looking haggard and desperate to be wanted—he was sure this starry-eyed naiveté would be gone. "Don't you understand that if I felt the Clave had the best interests of this world at heart, if I thought they were doing the best job they possibly could—by the Angel, why would I fight them? What reason would I have?" He looked to his son, urging him to see reason and logic rather than belief and loyalty to a corrupt government. Jonathan said nothing, and Valentine continued. "If the Clave goes on as they are, the demons will see their weakness and attack, and the Clave, distracted by their endless courting of the degenerate races, will be in no condition to fight them off. the demons will attack and they will destroy and there will be nothing left." And _this_ was the truth of it. _This_ was what they had to look forward to to if the Clave were allowed to carry on the way they have been. People could say what they wanted about him—but it would never change the fact that he was right.

"Luke." His son had whispered the name, and he had almost missed it. In fact he wished he had. He hated that his former _parabatai_ kept coming back to bite him. All the same, he kept his face blank as he looked at Jonathan, who was looking pained. As much as Valentine hated it, he knew that his son had developed some sort of affectionate attachment to the wolf and he would need to watch what he said about the beast if he wanted to keep his son on his side. Jonathan licked his lips. "Luke isn't a degenerate—"

"Lucian is different," he cut off his son, biting back on the irritation of having to agree with him. He kept his tone indifferent as he continued. "He was a Shadowhunter once." That was the best he could do. In truth he didn't care that Lucian was once a Shadowhunter, or that he was his former _parabatai—_he would die along with all the other demons, half demons, and beasts out there. He would lie to his son now, but he was certain that Jonathan would see it was for the best later. he shook his head. "This isn't about specific Downworlders, Jonathan," he said. "This is about the survival of every living creature in this world. The Angel chose the Nephilim for a reason. We are the best of this world, and we are meant to save it. We are the closest thing that exists in this would to gods—and we must use that power to save this world from destruction, whatever the cost to us."

Jonathan was silent as he leaned forward on the rail next to Valentine. He said nothing for a long while, but instead stared out over the glistening river that sparkled like diamonds as it reflected the city lights. He took this moment to look at his son—his son who, for unspoken reasons, looked nothing like him, and yet had somehow managed to look just like him where it mattered. He had become a man in his absence, and yet, he was still just a boy who needed his fathers approval. An approval they both knew would be based on him joining his father's side. Jonathan took a breath. "In the old tale, Satan said to Adam and Eve 'You shall be gods' when he tempted them into sin. And they were cast out of the garden because of it."

Valentine chewed on this for a moment. And then it hit him that this was in reference to his remark about them being gods now, and he laughed. "See," he chuckled. "That's what I need you for, Jonathan. You keep me from the sin of pride."

But Jonathan wasn't laughing. Instead, he stood up straight and stared at Valentine. "There are all sorts of sins," he said. "You didn't answer my question about the demons, Father. How can you justify summoning them, _associating _with them? Do you plan to send them against the Clave?"

"Of course I do," Valentine remarked without blinking an eye. Just as he planned on sending Jonathan against the Clave. Jonathan—Jace—dark and light. Yes, Valentine would succeed this time. There would be no doubt about that. "The Clave wont yield to reason, only to force. I tried to build an army of Forsaken; with the Cup, I could build an army of Shadowhunters, but that would take years. I don't have years. _We_, the human race, don't have years. With the Sword I can call to me an obedient army of demons. They will serve me as tools, do whatever I demand. They will have no choice. And when I am done with them, I will command them to destroy themselves, and they will do it."

Jonathan gripped the rail tightly, his head shaking. But Valentine only watched him with flat eyes void of emotion. "You can't slaughter every Shadowhunter who opposes you," he breathed. "That's murder."

"I won't have to," Valentine reassured, though he knew that he would have no qualms if it came to that. "When the Clave sees the power arrayed against them, they'll surrender. They're not suicidal. And there are those among them who support me." At this, Jonathan looked up at him, surprised at this reveal. He nearly smiled and continued. "They will step forward when the time comes."

His son shook his head slowly, disbelievingly. "I think your underestimating the Clave." he said with a forced calmness that Valentine picked up on right away. "I don't think you understand how much they hate you."

It took everything he had not to scoff at his son. Instead, he touched the hilt of the Maellartach reassuringly. "Hate is nothing when weighed against survival," he said solemnly. "But don't take my word for it. I told you there was something I wanted to show you. Here it is." Wrapping his fingers around the hilt of the Angel sword, he pulled it from it's sheath and held it out to his son. He had shown his son the sword before, but he had been unable to touch it—to experience it's full power. And until he did, he would never know. Even now, Jonathan only stared at it, his expression a mixture of awe and indifference.

"Very nice," his son said flatly after a moment.

"I want you to hold it," Valentine said, taking a step toward him and offering the Sword hilt first—the only proper way to present a man with a sword. Jonathan was reluctant now, taking a step back.

"I don't think . . ." Jonathan shook his head. But he couldn't be more right. _He_ didn't think. Valentine would do the thinking for both of them now. Reaching forward, he caught his son's hand in his own and pressed the hilt firm into his palm.

"Take it."

He released the Sword as Jonathan's fingers curled around it. And then his wide eyes met Valentines, the shock on his son's face palpable. But he only stared back, void of the emotion that his son might have been looking for. Soon the look of shock turned into a grimace of pain and then fear as Jonathan looked around wildly. Valentine knew then that his son was finally seeing them—his father's army—and he drew back his shoulders with pride. This was why he would win, and now his son knew it too. He watched, disgusted, as Jonathan flung himself toward the railing and began to vomit over the side. He would need to learn to control that weakness. And then he dropped the Sword, and Valentine cocked his head and watched as it clattered to the deck.

"What _was_ that?" Jonathan breathed, his eyes terrified as he looked at his father. Valentine, however, remained expressionless as he moved forward to retrieve the Sword. "Are those the demons you've already called?"

"No," Valentine said, standing up and replacing the Angel's Sword in it's sheath. "Those are the demons that have been drawn to the edges of this world by the Sword. I brought my ship to this place because the wards are thin here. What you saw is my army, waiting on the other side of the wards—waiting for me to call then to my side." He stared at his son, pressing the truth of this on him with his gaze—with his words. Seeing is sometimes the only way to believe. "Do you still think the Clave won't capitulate?"

Jonathan took a breath and closed his eyes. "Not all of them—not the Lightwoods—"

"You could convince them," Valentine offered. "If you stand with me, I swear no harm will come to them." His son said nothing to this, but kept his eyes closed. At Jonathan's continued silence, Valentine was becoming agitated, but knew better than to allow his son to witness that. Instead, he kept the silence as long as his son did. It was another moment before Jonathan took a breath, though he did not open his eyes.

"I've done so much to hurt them already," he whispered, and Valentine could hear the pain and regret in his son's voice. "Nothing else must happen to them. Nothing."

"Of course. I understand." Valentine nodded. He saw the Lightwoods as his family. They had been his family for seven years. It was only natural that his son would want to save them. He could respect that—whether he agreed with it or not. And then there was the fact that his son wanted to do something right after causing so much destruction to these people. He must know that this would be the only way to save them now. The more he looked at his son, the more he became certain of this. "You think it is your fault, all the harm that has befallen your friends, your family."

"It _is_ my fault," Jace countered.

Valentine shrugged. "You're right. It is." And Jonathan's eyes popped open in shock at his father's callousness. But Valentine would rather be callous than a liar. He had warned Jonathan and the boy had not listened. And not just recently—but he had been warning his son of this long before he was ever sent to the Institute.

"Is it?" Jonathan asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"The harm is not deliberate, of course. But, you are like me. We poison and destroy everything we love. There _is_ a reason for that."

"What reason?"

Valentine looked up at the demons that pressed against the border of this world. Waiting to be used. Waiting to be released. "We are meant for a higher purpose, you and I. The distractions of the world are just that, distractions. If we allow ourselves to be turned aside from our course by them, we are duly punished."

Jonathan shook his head. "And our punishment is visited on everyone we care about?" His voice was disbelieving and Valentine didn't blame him. It was a hard lesson. But it was still the truth. "That seems a little hard on _them."_

"Fate is never fair," Valentine said, letting his tone soften. "You are caught in a current much stronger than you are, Jonathan; struggle against it and you'll drown not just yourself but those who try to save you. Swim with it and you'll survive."

"Clary—"

"No harm will come to your sister if you join with me," Valentine reassured. "I will go to the ends of the earth to protect her. I will bring her to Idris, where nothing can happen to her. I promise you that."

Jace swallowed, his eyes never leaving his father's face. "Alec. Isabelle. Max—"

The Lightwood children, also, will have my protection," Valentine said, keeping the irritation out of his tone. This was growing tiresome.

"Luke." The word was whispered softly by his son, like he was worried about the repercussion of it, and he had to keep his anger at bay. Once he was sure he had it under control, Valentine swallowed.

"All of your friends will be protected. Why can't you believe me, Jonathan?" He asked then, his eyes watching his son speculatively. "This is the only way that you can save them. I swear it." But Jonathan said nothing, and under his father's gaze, he closed his eyes. Valentine had prided himself on the patience he had learned over the past years . . . but now his son was pushing it. He would join him though—surely he knew that was the only way. The best way. And the right way. "Have you made your decision?" he asked when Jonathan continued to say nothing.

Jonathan opened his eyes. "Yes, Father. I've made my decision."

Valentine could feel his eagerness and excitement, but fought to keep it from showing. It wasn't often that he and to fight to keep his emotions under control, and yet his son seemed to bring that out in him. "And I trust you know what is right?"

"I do."

"So what have you decided?" Valentine asked.

Jonathan took a breath before meeting his eyes. "I can't—I won't join you, Father. My answer is no."

This was a blow that Valentine had not been expecting. He had been so sure—positive even—that Jonathan would join him. He felt the anger flooding his every being as he gripped the hilt of the Angel's Sword. His son knew what was going to happen. Knew the truth of it. Anyone who opposed him would fall, so why would he choose to stand against him? It was a long time before Valentine felt calm enough to speak again, and when he did, he still could not hide the agitation in his tone. "Jonathan, you understand that I cannot protect those you love if you do not join with me."

"Cannot or will not?" Jonathan countered.

Valentine shrugged as if bored. "Both," he said honestly. "Why would I?"

"Because Clary is your daughter?" Jonathan said pointedly.

"And you are my son," Valentine said with nothing but a raised brow. "And yet you refuse to join me. If you stand against me, she will stand with you. I think we both know this to be true."

Jonathan said nothing for a short time. His eyes were angry as he stared at Valentine, but then just as quickly, his features smoothed away to reveal only impassiveness. "I guess I'll just have to protect her and everyone else from you," He said with a shrug, and Valentine nearly laughed at his son's determination. He could try. And he would fail. And then Jonathan looked around before asking, "Are you going to try stopping me from leaving?"

Valentine stared at his son without expression. He had warned him. He had tried to reason with him—showed him the truth, and still he refused. And now he wanted to leave—to run back to those who hated him and opposed his father. Would Valentine let him go? Yes—of course he would. Jonathan could go, run back to the others and warn them about what was coming. He could try to protect them. But when the time came—when they all died—his son would learn that he had been telling the truth. That only his father could have protected them. Jonathan would fail. And that blood would be on no one's hands but his own. Valentine smiled and saw the nervousness in Jonathan's eyes.

His son would be back.

"Of course you are free to leave. I will not stop you."

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><p><em><strong>AN: <strong>Hope you guys liked it! Valentine is not an easy POV to write. Please let me know! _


	14. Doughnuts and Runes

_**AN:** I apologize now for any editing mistakes-spelling or grammatical. I was up late finishing this because I wasn't sure when I would have gotten the chance to get back to it. I think my eyes started crossing a couple times, lol. But I'm going to be really busy over the next couple weeks and wanted to get this out to you. Anyway, as always, a HUGE thank you to all my readers. I hope you like it! Please, let me know what you think. _

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><p><strong>~Chapter Thirteen~<strong>

**Doughnuts and Runes. **

**Because why not?**

A curve here. A line there. It hurt. To say otherwise would be a lie. There was no gentleness to what he was doing, nor was he trying. Jace looked down at the small Mark on the inside of his forearm as it gleamed, the pain still pulsing from where his stele had sliced his skin. Within seconds it took effect, and he felt suddenly awake and full of energy. Shoving his stele back in his jacket pocket, he stared out over the river. The sun was starting to come up, so the shadow of his father's ship was getting harder to see. But he knew it was there. Knew where he could be found now. Jace dropped his head in his hands. He was sitting in a shaded cove on the bank of the East River, having hidden the demon motorcycle under a tree. Chances were that the sun would eventually hit it—which would be a waste, but there was nothing else to cover it up with. He had been sitting here since leaving Valentine. Behind him, Luke's house sat quiet—while in front of him, his father was building an army. An army like none the Clave have ever seen. And he was stuck in the middle. He knew he should tell everyone what had happened. Knew that he should go to the Clave immediately. But then what? If nothing else, his father had been right about one thing—they did not trust the son of Valentine. So why should he help them? It would be just as easy to sit back and watch. Jace sighed, knowing that was not an option. Reaching into one of his hidden inside pockets, he pulled out the broken Portal and turned it in his hands. It was raining in Idris right now, and he watched as each drop magnified what he could see of the rolling meadows and emerald leaves, making them sparkle. It was beautiful and sad. This was what it was like when Clary cried—

Jace clasped his hand spasmodically around the Portal, barely registering the pain of the razor sharp edge cutting into his palm or the blood that was now dripping from it. _Why do you have to ruin everything? _Her words had been echoing in his head ever since she said them before shoving past him to chase after the leech. He had told his father that Clary was not happy with him, but that had been an understatement. She said she didn't hate him, but she didn't seem to exactly like him much either. And he wasn't _trying_ to ruin everything. He just wanted—Jace sighed. It didn't matter what he wanted. He poisoned everything he touched. His father said so. Had he poisoned Clary? And if so, would she really stand with him as his father believed? Valentine had said they both knew it was true, but Jace wasn't sure what he knew to be true anymore. He shook his head, not wanting to think about the answers to those questions. Tucking the Portal back in his pocket, he pulled his stele out once more and healed his palm, watching as the skin knitted together seamlessly. Looking back out over the river, the sun reflected on it's gentle current making it look like liquid gold in the dawn of the morning. It was peaceful. Serene. Everything it shouldn't be. He stared up at the sky, remembering what his father had showed him. Knowing what lurked just beyond the border. And then there was what lurked beneath the decks of his father's ship. Jace shuddered just remembering what it had showed him. Clary, dead—and him unable to do anything about it. Unable to save her.

If he stood against his father, how was he supposed to fight something that could floor him with his worst fear? Something that could make it a reality?

No.

He wouldn't let that happen. He would think of something.

Getting to his feet, he dusted himself off and headed back toward the house. He could feel his stomach twisting as he went. Clary was in there and he wasn't sure if she was still pissed at him. And then there was Magnus, who he was sure was just waiting to rip into him. The warlock, he wasn't worried about, but Clary . . . he just wanted to keep her safe. The morning was chilly, and he zipped up his jacket as he went. Looking up, he stopped—a slow smile forming on his lips as he saw Alec pacing the front porch. His _parabatai _had left last night after it seemed that Magnus was determined to give him the silent treatment. But whether it had really been the silent treatment, or just sheer exhaustion, Jace wasn't sure. The healing that the warlock had performed on Luke and the wolf girl had completely depleted his magic. This was also why he had been able to leave without Magnus knowing. He had made Jace promise to stay but, well, who was he kidding? Taking a breath, he continued forward and then leaned against the railing looking up at Alec, who had watched him emerge from the brush.

"How long have you been out here?" Alec asked, and Jace noticed that his brother looked nervous. Awkward almost. This frustrated him. Alec had been a lot of things toward him in the last seven years, but never this. And he had no clue how to fix it. He decided to pretend he didn't notice it instead.

"Awhile," he shrugged casually. "Took a walk—needed to think. What about you? When did you get back?"

"About ten minutes ago," Alec said, running a hand through his dark hair and not meeting Jace's eyes.

Jace frowned. "So what are you doing out here? Why not go in?"

Alec shifted uncomfortably before answering. "I did—everyone was still asleep. I didn't want to wake anyone up, and then I noticed you were missing, so I came out to see where you had gone. Magnus' magic must have been diminished then?" Though he tried to make his tone light when saying the warlocks name, Jace noticed the rigidness in which he said it. He wished his brother would just be honest, but after last night, he didn't want to push it. Instead, he just nodded, and Alec took a sharp breath. "If he finds out you used his momentary weakness to bail, he's going to be pissed."

"Probably," Jace grinned. "But I'm a criminal remember? It would be a travesty if, as a criminal, I didn't try for some kind of jail break when the opportunity presented itself, wouldn't it? And if that doesn't work, I can always say that it's just my rebellious teenage nature."

Alec eye'd him speculatively before saying softly, "Or we can go get doughnuts—Magnus likes doughnuts." He reddened at this as if admitting something forbidden, but then he continued with a forced shrug. "It might make him a little less likely to turn you into newt at least."

"A newt?" Jace echoed, a brow raising. "Why a newt? I can't be a newt! I am much to attractive for that."

Alec didn't answer as he loped down the steps past him. Shrugging, Jace followed. They walked in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. But it wasn't an uncomfortable silence, and for this, Jace was grateful. It was a few blocks before they came to a _Dunkin' Donuts. _Alec didn't seem thrilled, but said it would do. Apparently Magnus had a much more sophisticated taste when it came to doughnuts. Jace and Alec, on the other hand, didn't have the money for sophisticated pastries with holes in them, so he would get this or nothing. In the end, they decided to get an assorted dozen, because they weren't sure who else might want one and what they would like—though Jace did pick out a particularly delicious looking Boston Cream, wondering if Clary would like it. To both Jace's and Alec's annoyance, the girl behind the counter kept giggling each time they picked a different doughnut. At one point, Jace thought his _parabatai _was going to snap at her, but he didn't. Finally, with doughnut box in hand, they were on their way back. Alec walked slow, looking down at the box, before taking a breath.

"About Magnus . . ."

Jace looked at his brother in surprise. "Look, Alec, I really don't—"

"Don't say you don't care." Alec said quietly, almost painfully.

"But I—"

"There really is nothing—I mean—I . . ." Alec was gripping the box hard now, and Jace momentarily feared for the pastries within. "It's just, I don't know why you would think that there was something going on with me and Magnus."

Jace bit on the inside of his cheek, not knowing how to answer. He was afraid of hurting him or pissing him off—but he didn't know what it was that he had done to do that in the first place. And then it hit him. It was Magnus. Being gay was already frowned upon by the Clave—but to be gay and in a relationship with a Downworlder? That must be why he didn't want people knowing. Jace sighed, choosing his next words carefully. "Look, whether you're with Magnus or not—"

"But I'm not." Alec cut him off. Jace only looked at him and shook his head before continuing.

"Okay," he said. "But all I was trying to say last night is that regardless of relationships . . . I don't care if you're gay, Alec. I really don't. Shit, I wouldn't care if you were a pink turtle with a purple horn and bowel issues. I'd still stick you in a tank in my room and take care of you."

At this, Alec raised a brow with incredulity. "Why do I have bowel issues?"

Jace looked down at the box in his brother's hands and shrugged. "Have you seen what you're about to ingest?" At this Alec looked down at the white box as well, and Jace took a moment to really look at him. His jacket was unzipped and his dark hair was in his face like it usually always was. He was the same Alec he had always been. "You're my _parabatai,_" Jace continued, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder. "My brother. My best friend. My love is unconditional, okay? Just know that."

Alec said nothing, though Jace thought he looked like he wanted to. He wished he _would _say something. Instead, he avoided Jace's gaze and looked past him instead. "We should go in."

Jace turned to see the row houses up ahead, and Luke's book store sign. Sighing, he nodded. He had tried to fix whatever damage he had done with his brother. He hoped it worked. As they got closer, they could hear voices coming from inside. Alec and Jace looked at one another, and then down at the box once more. Here's hoping it worked. Grabbing the handle, Jace took a deep breath and then wiped his face of emotion. He could get through this. All he had to do was hide his heart, pretend not to be in love with his sister, feed the warlock a doughnut, and somehow save them all. Oh, and also somehow mention that his father is building an army with a fear demon and will probably win. Right. Piece of cake. Throwing the door open, he stepped in.

Everyone was awake now.

His eyes went traitorously to Clary immediately, who was looking at him with a frown, before he looked away quickly and swept the room lazily. Magnus was pulling a towel hastily off his head, looking livid, just as Alec walked through the door. Luke was still on the couch with a look of surprise, and the female wolf was next to Clary, crying. _Hmm, frowning, angry, shocked, and crying— _"Everyone in a good mood, I see," he observed mockingly. "Keeping up morale?"

"Crap," the wolf girl mumbled, rubbing her eyes. "I hate crying in front of Shadowhunters."

Jace's eyes shot to her. He could see her now. She was pretty, he supposed—in a wolfish sort of way. But the problem was that his father wanted her dead. She was the whole reasons the demons had even been here. And now she was just one more he had to save—like he really needed another person he had to take care of. Suddenly he was irritated with the girl. "So go cry in another room," he said cooly. "We certainly don't need you sniveling in here while we're talking, do we?"

"Jace." It was Luke, and he looked angry. But Jace couldn't care less. Besides, the wolf girl was already running from the room like a ridiculous child.

"Talking?" Clary rounded on him now, and Jace felt his skin prickle. Luckily, he was able to keep his demeanor indifferent, despite the racing of his heart. "We weren't talking."

Moving through the room, Jace hooked the piano bench with his foot and pulled it out. "But we will be," he said, taking a seat so that he was facing everyone, and stretching out his legs. It felt good after the walk. But the longer he sat there, the more he started to think it wasn't the best idea after all. His Energy Rune was wearing thin and this bit of rest was nearly overpowering. He willed himself to ignore it, however, as he looked at the warlock, who was looking at Alec. "Magnus wants to shout at me, don't you, Magnus?"

Magnus turned to glare daggers at him. "Yes," he growled. And then he was on his feet and Jace saw the blue tracksuit with the white stripes he wore and had to bite back on a snicker. It was worse than his glass cape. Where was that, by the way, he wondered idly looking around. He would hate to step on it barefooted— "Where the hell were you?" Magnus nearly shouted, throwing his arms in the air and pulling him away from his thoughts. "I thought I was clear with you that you were to stay in the house."

Before Jace could answer, however, Clary sat down with a mug of coffee. "_I _thought he didn't have a choice," she said, taking a sip. "I thought he _had_ to stay where you are. You know, because of magic."

"Normally, yes," Magnus snapped irritably. "But last night, after everything I did, my magic was—depleted."

"Depleted?" Clary's brows shot up as she looked from the warlock to Jace, who had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning defiantly.

"Yes." Magnus said, and Jace wondered absently if it was normal for warlocks to turn colors when they were pissed—because Magnus was becoming a nice shade of red. "Even the High Warlock of Brooklyn doesn't have inexhaustible resources. I'm only human. Well," he corrected, "half human, anyway."

Next to Clary, Luke was leaning forward with furrowed brows. "But you must have known your resources were depleted," he said gently. "Didn't you?" And Jace allowed smug satisfaction to paint his face. Oh, the warlock knew. That's why the alarms didn't ring and the spotlights didn't turn on when he left. There were no bolt cutters needed this time. But looking at Magnus, he saw that he was not nearly as amused.

"Yes," the warlock said angrily, rounding on Jace. "And I made the little bastard swear to stay in the house. Now I know what your much-vaunted Shadowhunter vows are worth."

Jace only shrugged, still unfazed. They wouldn't be giving him shit once they all learned the truth. Or maybe they would. Who knew. Either way, one thing was certain— "You need to know how to make me swear properly," he said, looking around with a bored expression. "Only an oath on the Angel has any meaning."

"It's true," Alec said suddenly, and everyone looked at him. Everyone but Jace, anyway. Instead, he was eyeing the nearby end table where a full cup of coffee sat. He could smell it from here, the rich aroma enticing him. He supposed it might have been the wolf girl's, since she had been sitting there only moments before she stalked from the room to cry.

"Of course it's true." He said in response to Alec as he reached forward and picked up the mug. Bringing it to his lips, he let the smell fill his senses before taking a sip and—_good feeling gone._ His face twisted with disgust as he set the cup back down. Looking up, he saw Clary watching him. "Sugar," he explained, and thought for the briefest moments that he had seen the corners of her mouth tick upward. It sent his heart racing.

"Where were you all night, anyway?" Magnus cut in, and Jace tore his eyes away from her to look at the warlock. "With Alec?"

Jace considered this for a moment. Would it matter if he were with Alec? He was his _parabatai, _so it wouldn't be that strange a notion. Rubbing at his temples, he decided to let it go and to instead decide how best to answer. He wasn't ready to tell them all just yet. He realized he wanted to tell Clary first. She was his sister after all—his heart lurched—and probably the only one who fully trusted him. Angry with him or not, she would be able to tell him how best to inform everyone else. In the end, he went with what he had told Alec. "I couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk," he shrugged as if that were the only possible and logical answer. "When I got back, I bumped into this sad bastard mooning around on the porch," he finished, gesturing at Alec. He was still standing there holding the box, and looked slightly affronted at having been called out. Magnus, on the other hand, looked rather pleased by this, and he turned to face him.

"Where you there all night?" His tone was a mixture of hope and concern.

Jace thought that if Alec were smart, he would say yes. Girls liked it when you pined for them. And then he cast a covert glance at Clary. Well, most girls, anyway. And while Magnus wasn't necessarily a girl . . . "No," Alec said shortly. _Missed your chance there buddy, _Jace thought with a shake of his head. "I went home and then came back," he continued. "I'm wearing different clothes, aren't I? Look."

Jace had to bite back on the laugh as everyone looked at what he was wearing with incredulity, because it looked just like what he had been wearing yesterday—a jacket, a dark grey sweater, and jeans. But in all reality, tomorrow, he would be wearing another dark grey sweater and jeans, too. It was what he was most comfortable in. He saw Clary shake her head, her ruby curls bouncing. "What's in the box?" she asked.

"Oh. Ah." Alec's eyes went wide at the question, and Jace smirked. Had he forgotten? It had been _his _idea. But Alec was already opening the box. "Doughnuts, actually." Moving forward, he set it in the coffee table. "Does anyone want one?" And Jace saw him look pointedly at Magnus, who grinned. Getting up, Jace plucked an apple fritter and a glaze from the box, and then watched with delight as Clary picked up the Boston cream—_you're welcome—_and handed it to Luke—_oh . . . well, that backfired. _She returned to the box, choosing a smaller old fashion chocolate. Sitting back on the piano bench, Jace made short work of his own doughnuts while Alec came to stand behind him, leaning against the piano as he ate. It was some time before any of them spoke.

"There's one thing I don't get." It was Luke, who was now kicking off his blankets. He looked a lot better than he had last night.

Jace licked the glaze lightly off his thumb. "Just one thing?" he asked with a raised brow. "You're way ahead of the rest of us."

Luke ignored this. "The two of you went out after me when I didn't come back to the house," he said looking from Clary to Jace, and back again.

Clary sighed. "Three of us." Jace's stomach flipped with annoyance. _Yes, let us not forget the bloodsucker and his magnificent pipe. _"Simon came with us."

Luke closed his eyes for a moment, looking like someone had pinned him into the river and poisoned him. Oh wait, that _did_ happen. "Fine," he said after his pained pause. "The three of you. There were two demons, but Clary says you killed neither of them. So what happened?"

Jace looked at Clary, who's Idris eyes were unapologetic. He hadn't told her that his Raum had gotten away, so she must have seen—but if that were true, then what else had she seen? He bit the inside of his cheek, hoping that she did not witness him torturing the demon. Slowly, he turned back to Luke. "I would have killed mine, but it ran off," he said with partial truth. "Otherwise—"

"But why would it do that?" Alec asked from behind him. "Two of them, three of you—maybe it felt out numbered?"

Magnus snorted. He was sitting across the room staring at Alec. "No offense to anyone involved, but the only one among you who seems formidable is Jace—" _Yes I am! Formidable, attractive, amazing, the whole package. I'm also in love with my sister, a criminal, and the son of the most hated man in the world. Watch out ladies, I'm a catch. _The warlock's cat-like eyes moved to him as if he heard his thoughts, and Jace smirked. Magnus crossed his arms and continued. "An untrained Shadowhunter and a scared vampire . . ."

"I think it may have been me," Clary said suddenly, and Jace raised his brow amused. She was purposely not looking at him now. "I think maybe I scared it off."

Magnus looked less than impressed. "Didn't I just say—"

"I don't mean I scared it off because I'm so terrifying—" _You terrify me_. "—I think it was because of this." At that, she raised her arm, and turned it. Jace bit the inside of his cheek as he stared at the strange Mark on her arm. It was stark against her milky flesh, and it was definitely a rune. But try as he might, he couldn't remember ever seeing one like that before in the Gray Book—though it must have come from there. One thing he did know, however, was that he didn't like it, and he wasn't sure why. After a moment, he looked down at his hands instead and rubbed at the naked spot on his finger where his ring used to sit. It was Luke who finally spoke.

"I've never seen a Mark like that before," he said, and Jace looked up to meet his gaze. "Has anyone?"

"No," Magnus said crisply. "But I don't like it." Jace looked at the warlock. So he wasn't the only one who had gotten a bad feeling from it then. This was somehow comforting to him.

"I'm not sure what it is," said Clary, looking at the Mark, "or what it means. But it doesn't come from the Gray Book."

_That's not true. _Jace's golden eyes flashed to hers. "All runes come from the Gray Book." he said sternly. With everything that was happening. With the armies and the Fear demons and the helplessness he constantly felt—he needed this one thing to be true. It _was_ true. Clary couldn't just make up runes of her own free will.

But Clary was persistent. "Not this one," she said. "I saw it in a dream."

_Is she fucking kidding? _"In a _dream?" _He couldn't keep his anger from showing now as he glared at her. Was that really what she was going with? _I saw you die in a dream, and yet that doesn't make it true—_he bit the inside of his cheek. _Don't think about that._ It wasn't true—it hadn't happened. She was alive. _That_ was the truth—just like all runes come from the Gray Book. It was that simple. "What are you playing at, Clary?"

"I'm not playing at anything," she retorted. "Don't you remember when we were in the Seelie Court—" Jace's brows nearly flew off his head, his stomach twisting painfully as his heart jackhammered. Had she really—did she just—_do I fucking remember? How could I fucking forget? _His expression must have showed what he was thinking, because Clary went on hastily. "—and the Seelie Queen told us we were experiments—" _Oh yes, that part you believed. Not the part about wanting my kiss . . . no, But that we're freaks? Sure why not. _"—That Valentine had done—had done _things _to us to make us different, special—" _Nope, sorry. I asked. With the exception of great hair and an unholy love for my sister, I'm not special. _"—She told me that mine was the gift of words that cannot be spoken—" _Yeah, so is mine. Or more, words you won't allow me to speak._ "—and yours was the Angel's own gift?"

Jace looked at her speculatively before saying, "That was faerie nonsense."

"Faeries don't lie, Jace," Clary snapped, throwing his own words back at him. "Words that cannot be spoken—she meant runes. Each has a different meaning, but they're meant to be drawn, not said aloud." Jace raised a dubious brow, but she ignored it. "Remember when you asked me how I'd gotten into your cell in the Silent City?" Jace said nothing. The only things that really stuck out about that night, were the things he wished to forget. "I told you I just used a regular Opening rune—"

"Was that all you did?" Alec cut her off with surprise, and Jace looked back at his _parabatai. _"I got there just after you did and it looked like someone had ripped that door of it's hinges."

Jace bit the inside of his cheek and looked back at Clary, who was nodding with appreciation. "And my rune didn't just unlock the door," she said. "It unlocked everything inside the cell, too. It broke Jace's manacles open." She stopped to take a breath, her emerald gaze meeting Jace's golden ones. He was rubbing at his wrists, remembering now how he had pulled on them. But he couldn't tear away from her gaze. Those eyes—home. More gently, she said, "I think the Queen meant I can draw runes that are more powerful than ordinary runes. And maybe even create new ones."

Jace shook his head, not wanting to believe. If it were true . . . if she could . . . and if Valentine found out? How was he supposed to protect her then? "No one can create new runes—"

"Maybe she can can, Jace." It was Alec, and Jace had to work hard not to snap at him to shut up. Though he should have. "It's true," Alec continued, "none of us have ever seen that Mark on her arm before."

Jace said nothing. This couldn't be. Didn't they understand that? Didn't they understand what it would mean? "Alec's right," Luke said softly, proving to Jace that they apparently had no clue at all. "Clary, why don't you go get your sketchbook?"

Jace was suddenly exhausted as Clary looked at Luke in surprise. He felt his shoulders slump forward, the weight of no sleep mixed with helplessness really beginning to press down upon him. It took but a minute for Clary to get over he shock and agree, before disappearing from the room. Jace dropped his head in his hands and a second later Alec was crouched next to him. "Why are you so against this?" He whispered low. Jace looked up and saw that Luke was talking to Magnus now, before turning to Alec.

"I don't know," he lied. "Maybe I'm just tired. Grumpy, sleep deprived, emotional teenager—that's me."

Alec raised his brow disbelievingly, and then shook his head with a smile. "Let me see your arm," he said, reaching into his pocket. Jace pulled up the sleeve of his jacket and saw the silvery thin scar of what had once been his Energy rune. That hadn't lasted long. Alec saw it too, but didn't comment on it as he put his stele to Jace's skin and began tracing over it with a new one. When he was done, he met his brother's eyes. "If what Clary says is true," he began slowly. "If she can do this—it could be a really good thing." With that, he got up and moved to stand back against the piano behind him again, but this time, he kept his hand on Jace's shoulder, lending him his own energy as well.

_This could be a good thing_. Alec's words bounced around his head. How—_how_ could this be at all good? If Valentine finds out, the first thing he'll do is send his Greater Fear demon after her. And how could he possibly protect her from that? He couldn't. And _that_ was worse than any fear he had. When Clary came back in the room, her eyes met his briefly before she sat down at the small dining room table. "All right, I got it," she said, setting the sketchpad and a box of colored pencils down. But all Jace heard was, _you can't protect me. You will fail. _He bit the inside of his cheek as Clary looked around at them all. "What do you want me to do?"

"What do you _think?" _Jace snapped unfairly. Though he felt awake now, he was still slumped forward and he was sure he looked nothing like his usual amazing self. The Mark and Alec were great . . . but no amount of runes would get rid of this trepidation. It was Luke who responded to his anger.

"Jace," he said with a warning in his tone. "That's enough." And then he turned gentle eyes on the girl he thought of as his daughter. "You said you could draw new runes, Clary?"

Clary tugged absentmindedly at one of her curls. "I said I thought so."

Luke nodded. "Well, I'd like you to try."

"Now?" She asked, her eyes flashing to Jace briefly, and sending a jolt through his body.

"Unless you've got something else in mind?" Luke smiled, seeing where Clary had been looking and making her blush. _Smooth,_ Jace thought dryly. But Clary didn't respond. Instead, she flipped open her book to a blank page. Jace watched as her slender but expert fingers removed a pencil from the box, and noticed how her hand curled naturally around it—as if it had done this a thousand times before. It probably had. He swallowed as she stared down at the paper, her brow furrowing. He wore no emotion as he watched her. He gave nothing away. How could he? How could he tell her that this terrified him? That Alec was wrong; this wasn't going to be a _good thing_. His face was a blank slate. After a few minutes, she threw the pencil down.

"I can't just do it on command like that," she said with frustration. "Not without an idea."

Jace took a breath, but it was Luke who answered. "What kind of idea?"

"I mean, I don't even know what runes already exist. I need to know a meaning, a word, before I can draw a rune for it."

Jace closed his eyes. A meaning . . . a word . . . the Gray Book was full of runes, and she was worried about recreating one already in existence? There were hundreds—thousands. They ranged from temporary to permanent. _Balance, Stamina, Luck, Stealth, Opening, Clairvoyance, Healing, Soundless, Precision, Agility, Speed, Bravery,_ Jace ticked off silently. _And not a single one of them will help against a Greater Fear Demon, and neither will any of the others, so what's the fucking point?_ And then it hit him like a freight train. Could it be done? Could she do it? He almost didn't want to ask, but . . . if she could do this—if she could create . . . and if it worked? He opened his eyes to look at Clary. Somewhere, Alec was talking but he only saw Clary. "How about . . . Fearless?" His voice was barely above a whisper, but Clary immediately met his eyes.

"Fearless?" She echoed, looking at him. But Jace kept his face just as blank before. He didn't want her seeing how much he wanted her to be able to do this. Instead he shrugged as if he didn't care.

"There are runes for bravery," he said. "But never anything to take away fear. But if you, as you say, can create new runes . . ." His voice died out as he looked up to catch the shocked expressions of Luke and Alec, and then he switched tracks. "Look," he said, stretching out his legs and yawning as if bored with this whole situation. "I just remembered that there isn't one, that's all. And it seems harmless enough." He met Luke's eyes with a flat indifference then. Clary also looked at Luke, and after a moment, the man-wolf shrugged.

"Fine," he said.

Nothing else was said as Clary picked her pencil back up and pressed the lead agains the paper. Jace watched, his skin prickling and his heart racing. If she could do this—if it worked—then there just might be a way to protect her after all. To protect everyone. If he were fearless, there would be no fears to feed on. He could kill the demon then. Jace bit the inside of his cheek just as Clary's pencil begin to move. Under her breath, she was whispering, but he couldn't make it out. Instead, he glanced up at Luke and then Alec, both of who were engrossed with what Clary was doing. Only Magnus seemed to be watching him instead. He wore a look on his face that Jace couldn't quite figure out. He didn't want to figure it out either. Tearing his eyes away from the warlock, he watched Clary once more. She was sitting back now, looking down at the paper. With one fluid movement, she ripped it free from the sketchbook and held it up for everyone to see. The lines were complex and smooth and beautiful and Jace's eyes widened just looking at it. It was definitely a rune, but just like the one that had seen on her arm, he had never seen this one before now either.

"There," said Clary, looking at the picture again.

"Cool," Alec said at the same moment that Jace was on his feet and moving across the room. He could feel the hope and excitement bubbling in his stomach, regardless of how hard he tried to keep himself from getting his hopes up. Sure it was a rune . . . he'd give her that much. Reaching forward, he took the paper out her hand, his fingers grazing hers lightly as he did so. He bit his cheek and ignored the sensation that one touch caused in him as he looked at the drawing—his shield. The only thing that might be able to save them all. And it was all contingent on it being real—on it doing what it was supposed to do.

"But does it work?" He asked, looking back at Clary.

"What do you mean?" Clary asked, looking affronted, though he wasn't sure how the question had offended her. Jace shrugged, deciding it didn't matter. She could be as affronted or offended or anything else she wants to be toward him, as long as she was safe. But he had to be careful with how he answered, just like he had to be careful when suggesting it.

"I mean, how do we know it works?" Jace asked casually, like this was the most logical question to be asking now. And really, wasn't it? He looked at Luke, Magnus, and Alec, all of who were looking back at him confused. _Really? _"Right now it's just a drawing," he explained. "You can't take fear away from a piece of paper, if doesn't have any to begin with. We have to try it out on one of us before we can be sure it's a real rune."

"I'm not sure that's such a great idea," Luke frowned. And Jace heard him, he did—but he was wrong.

"It's a fabulous idea." Dropping the paper on the table, he unzipped his jacket, removed his stele, and begin sliding it off his arms. This was perfect. Absolutely perfect. "I've got a stele we can use. Who want's to do me?"

"A regrettable choice of words," Magnus retorted, but Jace didn't bother to reply. He was too excited about the possibility that this would work. This could be a good thing, Alec was right. He looked around, expectantly. Here he was . . . jacket down and everything, and no one was jumping? He looked at Clary, who was watching him with those emerald eyes of hers. Would she Mark him? Taking a step toward her, he held out his stele. Her Idris eyes went wide, but she didn't back away.

"No." It was Luke. _Of course,_ Jace thought irritably, before turning to look at the man-wolf with a blank face. Luke sighed. "Jace, you already behave as if you've never heard the word 'fear.' I fail to see how we're going to be able to tell the difference if it _does_ work on you."

From behind him, Alec laughed. But Jace was far from amused. Luke couldn't know how wrong he was. All the same, he forced a tight-lipped smile across his face. "I've heard of the word 'fear.'" _And I have felt fear like none you have ever endured. _He looked involuntarily at Clary, before shrugging casually, his tone lighter. "I simply choose to believe it doesn't apply to me."

"Exactly the problem," said Luke as if his point was proved. Jace didn't think it was, but before he could argue, Clary was moving forward.

"Well," Clary said speculatively as she stepped toward Luke. "Why don't I try it on you, then?" But Luke was shaking his head before she had even finished.

"You can't Mark Downworlders, Clary," Luke explained. "Not with any real effect. The demon disease that causes lycanthropy prevents the Marks from taking effect."

Clary looked around. "Then . . ." _Exactly,_ Jace agreed silently. He was the only one willing it seemed and yet, Luke didn't want him to try it—not that that would stop him. So now what?

"Try it on me." Alec said suddenly, stepping forward. Everyone looked a thin surprised, but he paid no attention. "I could do with some fearlessness." Taking off his jacket, he tossed it on the piano bench and then crossed the room until he stood between Jace and Clary. "Here. Mark my arm," he told him, and Jace bit the inside of his cheek and then leaned just slightly so that he could see Clary.

"Unless you think you should do it?" He said. It was her rune—maybe it would only work with her doing it. But Clary shook her head. "No," she said taking a step back. "You're probably better at actually applying Marks than I am."

Jace shrugged and righted himself so that he was looking at Alec again. "Roll up your sleeve, Alec." His _parabatai _didn't hesitate, rolling it up till he showed the permanent rune that graced him with perfect balance on his upper arm. It was the same place Jace had his. Lowering the stele to just under it, he took one last glance a the picture—memorizing it—before he began to slice it through Alec's skin. His _parabatai _hissed a couple times, but never flinched. He could feel the eyes of everyone on him as he worked, but he focused only on what he was doing. As he finished the last curve, he stepped back and studied the gleaming black Mark before shoving the stele back in his pocket. "Well, it _looks _nice at least," he said impassively. "Whether it works or not . . ."

Alec stared down the Mark on his skin and then pressed his fingers to it. "So?" Clary asked when he still hadn't said anything.

"So what?" Alec asked, rolling his sleeve back down, and Jace sighed irritably.

Clary sighed too. "So, how do you _feel?_ Any different?"

Alec stopped and thought about this before shrugging. "Not really."

_Shit! _Try as hard as he might not to, Jace had gotten his hopes up. And now . . . nothing. Frustrated he threw his hands up. "So it doesn't work." _What the hell am I going to do now? _He could feel the anxiety sinking in, his heart racing as he looked at Clary. It took everything he had not to show the desperation he was feeling—to keep his face blank and disinterested. He had to think of something!

"Not necessarily," Luke said, pulling Jace away from his thoughts and getting to his feet. "There might simply be nothing going on that might activate it." Jace tried to take a breath—Luke was right. Of course he was right. They just needed to scare the shit out of Alec. He was feeling better, now. This could still work.

"Boo." Magnus said suddenly, nearly causing Jace to choke. Timing was everything. Turning to Alec, and unable to hide his grin, Jace raised a brow waiting. Nothing? No? Guess his _parabatai_ wasn't afraid of the warlock then. And then he realized that he had no clue what his brother was afraid of.

"Come on," Jace pressed. "Surely you've got a phobia or two. What scares you?"

Alec considered this for a moment. "Spiders," he said after a short pause. _Really? _Jace thought, raising his brow. _Spiders? _And now he really had to keep from laughing. Alec fought demons on a regular basis, and yet it was eight legged insects that sent him cowering? Before he could make fun of Alec mercilessly however, Clary was turning to Luke.

"Have you got a spider anywhere?" She asked, and Luke looked at her incredulously.

"Why would I have a _spider?"_ He asked. He very nearly sounded affronted, Jace thought. "So I look like someone who would collect them?"

Jace took a step forward. "No offense, but you kind of do." Luke raised a brow at him, and he shrugged. He was just trying to be helpful. Behind him, Alec sighed.

"You know—" his _parabatai _said with irritation. "—maybe this was a stupid experiment."

But Clary was determined to prove it wasn't, it seemed. "What about the dark?" she asked, rounding on him. "We could lock you in the basement."

Alec looked at her as if that were the stupidest idea suggested thus far . . . and this had been after _he _had suggested spiders. "I'm a demon hunter," he said, his voice tight like he was fighting to keep his patience. "Clearly, I am _not afraid of the dark._" But Jace wasn't sure this was true. The Shadowhunter part, sure . . . the whole 'afraid of the dark' business was debatable, however. If there was a creepy crawly in that basement—one with eight legs maybe? Clary seemed to be along the same line of thought as he was, because she persisted.

"Well, you might be." She tried to keep her tone logical.

Alec was unmoved. "But I'm not," he said flatly.

Running his fingers through his hair, Jace cast a glance at Magnus who had not said much before his perfectly timed _'boo'_ and had yet to say anything afterwards. The warlock was watching Alec in silence, but with a thoughtful look on his face. Maybe he could summon a spider. He was just getting to ready to suggest that when a buzzer sounded. Alec caught his eyes, but said nothing. Clary, seeming startled by the sudden doorbell, turned to Luke. "Simon?" And Jace bit the inside of his cheek. Of course that's who she would hope it was, he thought darkly. But he was spared from replying by Luke—not that she had asked him. It was just that he had about thirteen different retorts and none of them would do him any favors. Luke shook his head.

"Couldn't be," he said. "It's daylight."

"Oh, right," she said, and Jace saw her cheeks flush as she cast her eyes sadly to the floor. But she was quick to recover herself. "Do you want me to get it?"

"No." Luke said pushing himself up off the couch. Jace was torn between staying where he was and going to help—especially when he saw him wince and then grunt in pain. But before he could decide, Luke was on his feet. "I'm fine." He looked at him when he said that, and Jace nodded. "It's probably someone wondering why the bookstore's shut."

Jace watched the man wolf cross to the door, and open it slowly. And then everything went to shit. _Fuck! _He saw Luke go ramrod straight at the same exact moment that he heard her—that hateful voice. He felt rage and nervousness and irritation. He kept his face blank though. He hated this woman, and he would not give her the satisfaction of bringing out any emotion in him. And then he heard the other voices at the same time that Luke stepped back. Isabelle and Maryse were the first to enter, followed by the Inquisitor, and lastly Robert—who must have returned from Alicante only recently, otherwise Alec would have told him sooner of his father's arrival. Jace cast a lazy eye, though he felt anything but, at Clary. She looked both curious and nervous. And she took a step forward, placing herself between him and the new arrivals. He wondered if this was something she did knowingly or instead as an absentminded gesture. Magnus looked nervous as well, but he was quick to hide it when he looked at Jace.

Alec, however, looked incredibly relaxed—like he had finally learned how to hide his emotions. But this was Alec—his brother—the guy who wore his heart on his sleeve. Jace watched him with a lifted brow as he looked from Isabelle, to Maryse, to Robert. And then Alec's eyes landed on Magnus. His eyes narrowed before he stepped forward, placing himself int he center of the room. What the hell was he doing? Jace looked at Clary. She was watching with just as much confusion as everyone else. It was Maryse who finally spoke, her eyes wide with surprise. "Alec, what on _earth_ are you doing here? I thought I made it clear that—"

"Mother," Alec nodded, cutting her off. His voice was polite but firm. Jace's brow furrowed, unable to deny his curiosity. "Father," Alec continued, turning to greet Robert. "There's something I have to tell you," he grinned. Jace would love to say that it was the grin of a mad man. That his brother had completely lost it. He must have to be acting like this, because _this _was not him. But his tone was simple. Casual even. He looked completely clearheaded as he turned back to his mother. "I'm seeing someone."

_Oh, snap. _Jace felt the corner of his lips tick upwards, his eyes widening as his gaze moved to Magnus. The warlock looked exasperated and dumbfounded. But it was nothing compared to the surprise Robert displayed. "Alec," he said. "This is hardly the time."

But Jace disagreed. This was great. This was absolutely fucking perfect! Especially since he knew what it meant . . . the Fearless rune worked! He could cheer! He wondered what everyone would do if he actually _did_ cheer—if he skipped forward and told Alec to, _'preach it, brother!'_ The Inquisitor would probably slap him—that's what. Though it might be worth it. He decided to say nothing, but he couldn't keep the amused smile off his face as he watched Alec look at his father like he didn't understand. "Yes, it is." his _parabatai _insisted to Magnus' and Isabelle's amazement. _Preach it brother! _"This is important." Alec then looked at his mother. "You see, I'm not just seeing anyone—I'm seeing a Downworlder. In fact, I'm seeing a war—"

And then he was on the floor.

Jace looked at Magnus who was lowering his finger, and he shook his head. It was just getting good. But he also understood why the warlock did it, so he said nothing. Biting the inside of his cheek, he instead watched as Maryse cried out and ran toward her oldest child, but Isabelle beat her to him. On the floor, Alec was already starting to stir. Looking up, he met each of their eyes with confusion as he rubbed the back of his head. Jace had to fight to keep from giving his brother an enthusiast two thumbs up. Alec blinked. "Wha—what—why am I on the floor?"

"That's a good question," Isabelle snapped, her hands on her hips as she glowered at her brother. "What _was_ that?"

"What was what?" Alec asked confused, pushing himself up and holding his head as he went. And then his eyes widened with distress. "Wait—" he turned to look at Jace. "Did I say anything? Before I passed out, I mean."

Jace snorted, still unable to hide his amusement. "You know how we were wondering if the thing Clary did would work or not?" Alec blanched and Jace continued. "It works all right."

"What did I say?" Alec demanded, terror painting his face at the very idea. But it was Robert who answered.

"You said you were seeing someone," he said annoyed, looking down at his son. "Though you weren't clear as to why that was important."

"It's not," Alec said hastily, getting to his feet. "I mean, I'm not seeing anyone. And it's not important. Or it wouldn't be if I was seeing someone, which I'm not." Jace rolled his eyes at this but it was nothing compared to the glare Magnus was giving him. In this moment, it was very clear that the warlock thought Alec was a complete and utter moron. And Jace might just have to agree if his brother didn't shut up. Alec opened his mouth again but whatever pearl of wisdom he intended to say this time was cut off by Magnus.

"Alec's been delirious," he offered in way of explanation. "Side effect of some demon toxins. Most unfortunate—" he threw a sharp glance at Alec. "—but he'll be fine soon." If this was supposed to have comforted Alec's parents, it didn't. Maryse's lips became thin as she glared at the warlock.

"Demon toxins?" She cried out piercingly, her angry eyes flickering to each person in the room before she rounded on Luke. "No one reported a demon attack to the Institute. _What _ is going on here, Lucian? This is your house, isn't it? You know perfectly well if there's been a demon attack you're supposed to report it—"

"Luke was attacked too. He's been unconscious." Clary said irritably, and Jace's eyes sliced to her. _Careful,_ he thought, all amusement gone now. The last thing he wanted was her drawing attention to herself. Especially in the presence of—

"How convenient." _Shit._ It was the Inquisitor. "Everyone's either unconscious or apparently delirious," she said, moving forward. Her narrow eyes resting spitefully on Clary, and Jace wanted to suddenly wrap his arms around her to protect her from the hateful woman. He bit the inside of his cheek instead. And then she turned to Luke. Jace could see the rigidness of his body and the hardness in his eyes "Downworlder," the Inquisitor said the word like it was something disgusting, and Luke's jaw locked. "You know perfectly well that Jonathan Morgenstern should not be in your house. He should have been locked up in the warlock's care."

"I have a name, you know." Magnus cut in irritably, and the Inquisitor turned her head slowly to look at him. "Not," he amended. seeing her scowl, "that that matters, really. In fact, forget all about it." He took a seat and pretended to check his nails for defects. Jace rolled his eyes.

But the Inquisitor was not going to forget, now that the warlock had captured her attention. The poor bastard. "I know your name, Magnus Bane." Her tone was like a poisoned rose. And now the she turned toward him fully. Jace couldn't see her face, but he could imagine her hateful glare all too well. "You've failed in your duty once, you wont get another chance."

Magnus looked more affronted than anything else, however. "Failed in my duty?" Just by bringing the boy here?" He narrowed his cat-like eyes. "There was nothing in the contract I signed that said I couldn't bring him with me at my own discretion."

"That wasn't your failure," the Inquisitor snapped. "Letting him see his father last night, _that _was your failure."

Jace bit the inside of his cheek, his face giving away nothing as every set of eyes in the room found him. How did she know. How—_how_ the fuck could she _possibly_ know? She's bluffing. She had to be. But—she wasn't. _Shit! _From his peripheral, he could see both Alec and Clary trying to catch his eyes. He looked at neither of them. It was Luke who finally broke the silence. "That's ridiculous," he said, stepping forward. "Jace doesn't even know where Valentine is. Stop hounding him." At this, Jace felt a twinge of guilt. Luke's insistence to trust him when he knew it was unfounded was like a boulder on his chest. But still he said nothing. Still he gave nothing away.

"Hounding is what I do, Downworlder," the Inquisitor said, turning on Luke with a sickly sweet smile that twisted her features. She should stick to frowning. "It's my job," she continued, facing Jace now. He could see the hatred in her eyes—see just how much she was enjoying this on some weird level. "Tell the truth now, boy, and it will be all the much easier."

Jace bit the inside of his cheek and crossed his arms over his chest tightly. Nope. He didn't think he would be doing that. He didn't know how she knew about his midnight trip, but unless she produced proof—he wasn't saying shit. Cocking his head, he raised a brow defiantly. "I don't have to tell you anything."

"If you're innocent, why not exonerate yourself?" The Inquisitor asked. But Jace knew better than to answer. To play into this goading. She wasn't going to believe anything he said, so it didn't matter. "Tell us where you really were last night," she continued, her piercing eyes never leaving his. "Tell us about Valentine's little pleasure boat."

Jace swallowed, bit the inside of his cheek, and then swallowed again. But still he kept his face void of expression. She knew. She knew about his father's ship. So what else did she know? How had she found out? Did his father contact her? Is that what happened? It must be, because for the life of him, he couldn't think of any other possibility. Was Valentine really _that_ upset about his son not joining him, that he turned him over to the Clave—to this sadistic excuse of a woman? But even as he thought it, he wondered if his father would stoop that low. He knew the answer immediately. Yes. He would. He knew now that it had been a little too easy to leave. The silence was pressing on him, but he ignored it. After a while, Robert cleared his throat.

"Imogen?" he said softly. "You're saying Valentine is—was—"

"On a boat in the middle of the East River," she finished for him. "That's correct."

"That's why I couldn't find him," Magnus said suddenly, though Jace had a feeling this had been meant more for himself. Looking up, he tried to meet Jace's golden eyes with his yellow cat-like ones. "All that water—it disrupted my spell." Jace did nothing to acknowledge this. He only just stared at no one and nothing in particular.

"What's Valentine doing in the middle of the river?" Luke asked perplexed.

"Ask Jonathan," the Inquisitor suggested. "He borrowed a motorcycle from the head of the city's vampire clan and flew it to the boat. Isn't that right, Jonathan?" He was going to break Raphael's undead little neck. But—he hadn't told the vampire where he was going. This wasn't adding up—it wasn't making sense. And he refused to answer still. Next to him, he could still feel Clary's gaze on him though he tried like hell to ignore it. Her's hurt the worse. He knew she was trying to make just as much sense of it—but she would be way off. How could he possibly explain that—

"Reach into the pocket of your jacket." The Inquisitor snapped suddenly, pulling Jace away from his thoughts. "Take out the object you've been carrying with you since you last left the Institute."

Jace could taste blood in his mouth now as he balled up his fists tightly. She knew what he carried? How could she possibly now about the Portal? There was nothing else she could possibly mean. He remembered how he had taken Clary back to the Institute that night just to get it—to show her that he still had it. His piece of home. Later, after they had dropped a newly undead Simon off at his house, he had asked Luke to take him back to the Institute so he could grab some more clothes. He had really just wanted to get the mirror. He could feel everyone's eyes on him now—hear their hitched breaths. Taking a steady breath, he reached into his pocket and slowly pulled out the shard of glass. Looking down at it, he saw that it had stopped raining in Idris, the sky a clear blue now. From what he could see of the meadows, they looked, if possible, even brighter green under the drops of water that had been left behind as it was reflected in the sun.

"Give it to me." And then the portal was gone as the Inquisitor ripped it roughly from his hand. He felt as the sharp glass cut into him, and he grimaced slightly. But if _she_ was aware, she didn't show it. Jace said nothing as she turned and took a step away from him. It's just a broken Portal. Why would she want— "I knew you'd return to the Institute for this," she said with a grin that churned his stomach. "I knew your sentimentality wouldn't allow you to leave it behind." Jace's eyes followed the Portal. How did she even know he had it? And then his stomach dropped. She had searched his room. She had been in there _touching _his belongings. He felt disgusted and violated and—and—_that had been in his underwear drawer, for crying out loud!_ It was getting harder and harder to keep his face blank the more his anger grew.

"What is it?" Robert asked confused, his eyes also following the mirror.

"A bit of a Portal in mirror form," the Inquisitor said with calm delight. "When the Portal was destroyed, the image of its last destination was preserved—in this case, the Wayland country house." And then she suddenly and violently chucked the Portal at the ground, where it shattered. Jace felt his sharp intake of breath as rage flooded him. That was all he allowed as he stood his ground. He didn't move. He didn't make to stop her. He only stared at the fine powdery dust that remained, his jaw locked. It had been all he had left of his home. Nothing else. Soon, the Inquisitor was in Jace's line of sight. At some point she had pulled on gloves, and she was now sifting through what was left of the mirror. Smiling, she stood back up with a thin piece of paper pinched between her fingers and held it up for everyone to see. "I marked this paper with a tracking rune and slipped it between the bit of mirror and it's backing. Then I replaced it in the boy's room." She met Jace's eyes. "Don't feel bad for not noticing it. Older heads and wiser than yours have been fooled by the Clave."

"You've been spying on me," Jace said, unable to control the fury in his tone like he had controlled it on his face. So that was how she had done it. That was—it was taking everything for him to keep from screaming. "Is that what the Clave does, invade the privacy of it's fellow Shadowhunters to—"

"Be careful what you say to me," the Inquisitor snapped, her smile from before gone. "You are not the only one who's broken the law." What the hell was she talking about. Who else—and then he watched, his stomach dropping heavily as her eyes gazed lazily around the room, stopping on those Jace loved. "In releasing you from the Silent City, in freeing you from the warlock's control, your friends have done the same."

Jace's mouth closed slowly. So that was her plan? Punish him by punishing them for doing nothing? God, he hated this woman. He hated everything she pretended to be. But it was Isabelle who responded. Flying forward, she whipped her hair back. "Jace isn't our friend," she said pointedly. "He's our brother." And Jace met Izzy's eyes, trying to put everything he felt into that one look. How much he loved her and Alec. How much her words meant to him. He hoped she understood.

Seeing this brief moment of camaraderie, the Inquisitor rounded on Izzy. "I'd be careful what you say, Isabella Lightwood. You could be considered complicit and get your marks stripped."

"Complicit?" Robert said, his tone tight and angry. This surprised Jace. In the seven years he had known the man in front of him, he had maybe only seen him upset a handful of times. He was usually much more the type to leave until he had cooled off. But now he was staring daggers at the Inquisitor. "The girl was just trying to keep you from shattering our family. For God's sake, Imogen, these are all just children—"

"Children," The Inquisitor breathed icily, and Jace got the distinct feeling that that had been the wrong thing to say. "Just as you were children when the Circle plotted the destruction of the Clave—" _Yep, definitely the wrong thing to say._ "—Just as my son was a child when he—" She cut herself off with a gasp. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. Her son—he had been brought up before. Before he could think anymore on it, however, Luke sighed heavily.

"So this is about Stephen after all," his voice was colored with pity. ""Imogen—"

"This is not about Stephen!" the Inquisitor screeched, her face twisting. "This is about the _Law!" _Her chest was heaving as she glared at Luke, daring him to disagree. Daring him to say anything at all. He didn't. He only shook his head.

"And Jace?" Jace's eyes snapped to Maryse, who looked pale and terrified and angry. But she wasn't looking at him, she was looking at the Inquisitor. "What's going to happen to him?"

The Inquisitor took a second to compose herself, smoothing down the grey robe she wore. When she spoke, her tone was controlled once more. "He will return to Idris with me tomorrow," she said regally. "You've forfeited your right to know any more than that."

"How can you take him back to that place?" Clary demanded suddenly, and Jace's stomach dropped. _Don't get involved, Clary—please, don't._ But she had taken a step toward the Inquisitor now like she might attack her. He tried to get her catch her gaze now, but she wasn't looking at him. "When will he come _back?"_

"Clary," he pleaded then. "_Don't."_ _Don't fight for me. Don't get involved. Don't show her what you mean to me or what I might mean to you—she'll use that! _That was one thing Jace knew for certain. If this horrible woman even remotely had an idea about—Jace cut off the thought. Clary cast her fiery emerald gaze at him, but then turned back toward the Inquisitor.

"Jace isn't the problem here!" She yelled angrily. _Dammit! _Why?_ Why _couldn't she listen? "Valentine is the problem!"

"Leave it alone, Clary! For your own good, leave it alone!" Jace screamed at her then—and she flinched away from him, her eyes wide and terrified. That hit him like a blow to the stomach. He couldn't breathe. He had never yelled at her like that before and—and—he felt the blood draining from his face as he realized just exactly what he had done. He had scared her—in that moment, _she had been scared of him_. He would do anything to take it back. _Anything_. Her eyes met his, and he wanted so badly to apologize. Strangely, she looked like she wanted to comfort him. Clary, his beautiful confusing Clary. Nothing would make what he did right. And then Luke was there with his hand on her shoulder, and she tore her gaze away from his.

"If the boy went to his father," Luke began somberly, "knowing the kind of father Valentine was, it is because we failed him, not because he failed us." Jace met the man-wolf's eyes and he felt his chest tighten. This wasn't pity. He knew that. And he would never be able to thank him, though he had done so much for him.

The Inquisitor was less than impressed with him however. "Save your sophistry, Lucian," she snapped. "You've gone as soft as a mundane." But Luke only shrugged in that manner that one does when they know they're right and the other person is too stupid to see it.

"She's right." It was Alec . . . but surely Jace had heard him wrong. Had he just _agreed_ with the psychotic bat? Snapping his head to look at his brother, he saw that he was sitting on the sofa with his arms crossed. He looked neither upset or nervous about having the rooms attention now. He met each eye steadily. "Jace lied to use. There's no excuse for that."

Jace felt his mouth pop open. Was he kidding? He stared hard at Alec. _Tell me you're fucking kidding?_ After everything they had been through? After he had told him outside that he would love him no matter what—stand by him no matter what—Jace couldn't believe it. He was his _parabatai! _Did that mean nothing? He didn't speak. He didn't think he could. But he didn't need to. Isabelle, shocked and beside herself, was scowling at her brother. "Alec, how can you _say_ that?"

Alec shrugged, though he didn't look at his sister. "The Law is the Law, Izzy. There's no way around that."

Isabelle's hand flew to her mouth as she cried out in shock and anger. For a moment, Jace thought she was going to attack Alec—he definitely would have let her—but instead, she turned on her heel and darted out of the door. It stayed open behind her, letting in the sunlight. It should be gloomier, Jace couldn't stop himself from thinking. Much, much gloomier. When Jace focused his attention back on his surroundings, he saw that Robert had had to keep Maryse from going after her daughter, while the Inquisitor was looking at Alec with approval. It made his stomach churn just seeing it. And then there was Magnus, who was now looking at Alec like he was both disappointed and angry. When he realized that Jace was watching him, however, he looked away quickly and did not look back at his brother again. Getting to his feet, the warlock shook his head.

"I do believe that's my cue to leave as well," he said making his way to the door. "I'd say it's been nice meeting you and all, but, in fact, it hasn't. It's been quite awkward, and frankly, the next time I see a single one of you will be far too soon." And then he too disappeared out the door, slamming it behind him and casting them all back in the gloom of Luke's house.

_Much better,_ Jace thought sardonically. Out loud, he said, "Two down." His voice dripped with grim amusement as he looked around lightly. "Who's next?"

"That's enough from you," The Inquisitor snapped, taking a step toward him. "Give me your hands." Jace stared at her defiantly, contemplating refusing on the grounds that she was a complete and utter bitch. But then he saw Alec watching from his peripheral. Alec who had turned on him—who sided with this woman. They lived in a world where death was preferable to the loss of a _parabatai,_ and now Jace wanted to be nowhere near him. Lifting his hands, he offered them without a fight. The Inquisitor smiled as she produced a stele from the inside of her robes, and then used it to burn runes into his wrist. She wasn't being gentle, they both knew it. Jace said nothing though, nor did he wince or cry out in pain. Not even when his wrists snapped together, one crossing over the other. Looking down, he saw the flamelike runes that bound him now. _Clever, _he thought before looking back up at the spiteful woman. Next to him, Clary gasped.

"What are you doing?" She demanded a little too passionately. Jace wanted to tell her to stop. To drop it. But after last time, after he had scared her, he couldn't bring himself to do it. "You'll hurt him—"

"I'm fine, little sister," he said, emphasizing the last word. He also didn't meet her gaze. He refused to give the Inquisitor more ammo than she already had. "The flames won't burn me unless I try to get my hands free."

"And as for you," The Inquisitor rounded on Clary, and Jace's stomach dropped. "You were lucky enough to be raised by Jocelyn and escape your father's taint." Now _that_ was something Jace could agree with this woman on. Clary was good, and beautiful, and kind. She was everything he wasn't—everything Valentine wasn't. "Nevertheless," the Inquisitor continued. "I'll be keeping an eye on you."

"Is that a threat?" Luke asked, and Jace saw a flash of the wolf in his eyes. But the Inquisitor was unfazed.

"The Clave does not make threats, Lucian Graymark," she grinned. "The Clave makes promise and keeps them." Her delighted attitude disgusted Jace. How could such a horrendous person, be put in a position of power like this? How did other people not see what a horrible person she was? When Luke continued to say nothing to this, the Inquisitor turned back to Jace. "Come Jonathan. Walk in front of me. If you make a single move to flee, I'll put a blade between your shoulders."

Jace looked at her steadily for a moment, and then at Luke. Slowly his eyes passed over everyone, lingering on Alec, who seemed bored. The only person he didn't look at was Clary. He couldn't look at her. Not like this. And he didn't want to think about when he would see her again, or how upset and miserable she looked from his peripheral as he turned toward the door. Right before he turned the handle, his eyes fell on the paper that sat on the table. The Fearless rune. That was his salvation. That was what he would use to save them all, regardless of how he had been treated by them. Even the wretched bitch behind him now. He just had to figure out how to get free first. He didn't doubt that she would kill him if he ran. She would. And she would probably do a little dance of his dead body afterwards. So for now, he would go with her—because he wasn't really being given a choice. But afterwards . . . he would figure out something. This could be a good thing.

He hoped.


	15. A Leap Of Faith

_**AN:** Okay, got it up sooner than I thought. I went through several POV's before deciding on these two, so I hope you like it! Not gonna lie . . . I'm more nervous about this one than I was about Valentine's POV chapter. Anyhoo, I'm back to work tomorrow and won't be able to write for a bit. As always, thank you to my readers and please review!_

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><p><strong>~Chapter Fourteen~<strong>

**A Leap Of Faith**

He looked just like Valentine. But if she were to be honest, he didn't at the same time. He also looked like—no. She would not think of who else he looked like, though she had noticed it the moment she had first laid eyes on him back in the library. It had actually given her pause at first—a nasty shock that she had not been expecting. But then she remembered it couldn't be possible. It was simply an unfortunate similarity—one that only made her hate the boy more. How dare he look like _him_. How dare he have similar features. He mocked her with his looks every time she saw him. But he wasn't her son—he wasn't Stephen. She knew that better than anyone—no matter how much he might look like him. This was Valentine's son. From the moment he opened his mouth, she knew that. Where people saw charm, she saw only arrogance. Where others were taken in by his caring, she knew it was only indifference. And so when he insisted on claiming the truth, she was not fooled. This boy was the creation of a mad man. Frankenstein's monster, so to speak. His ability to lie, and lie well, would not work on her.

Back at the Institute, Imogen separated him from the others. Only the Lightwood boy—Alexander—had come to realize she was right. That the Law was the Law and no one was above it. But the others were not to be trusted, and it would be best to keep him away from them. She had noticed from the beginning that every time Jonathan opened his mouth, people wanted to run to him—coddle him. They should be running _from_ him. But despite their belief, she was not unreasonable. She could understand that seven years under the boys charms, reassurance, and lies, would make it hard for them to see him as anything but the persona he had created for them. But she was also growing impatient with them. It seemed the boys hook in them was deep. Very deep. Even Maryse, who Imogen thought would see sense after what had happened to her and her family after the Uprising, was still holding out hope for the wretched boy. She, who should know what the son of Valentine was capable of because she knew his father—had been betrayed by his father. Did she really expect differently from his son? If she truly did, then she was just as foolish as her daughter and husband, one of who called Jonathan her brother, and the other who had referred to him as family. Blind. All of them.

At the end of the hall sat the Training room. The cavernous room would do just fine to serve as the boy's temporary prison. But she wasn't stupid. She didn't think for a second that Jonathan Morgenstern wouldn't try to escape if given the chance. He was his father's son after all. So she had made plans to make sure he couldn't leave. As she looked around speculatively, she caught the boy gazing at himself in a mirror. The color and shape of his eyes were wrong. They should be blue. But his nose, his cheekbones, his strong jawline—Imogen shook her head. No his eye's shouldn't be blue and she needed to stop thinking like that. The boy wasn't him. And the fact that even now, even with the trouble he was in, he would be looking wistfully at himself in the mirror only proved that the boy was vain. Just like his father.

"Admiring yourself?" She inquired mockingly. "You won't look so pretty when the Clave gets through with you."

The boy caught her eyes through the mirror and then turned to look at her fully with a raised brow. "You do seem obsessed with my looks," he said with a smirk that made her want to slap him. "Could it be that all this is because you're attracted to me?"

Imogen felt nauseated. Attracted? _Attracted? _He really was an arrogant little bastard. How could no one else see this? "Don't be revolting," she quipped, reaching into her satchel and removing four Angel blades. "You could be my son." _More than you know, _she thought painfully before moving away from him and contemplating her position.

"Stephen." The name uttered casually from the boys lips sent her stomach dropping and her blood boiling. She spun to face him, her chest heaving with rage. How dare he mention that name! How dare he—but he looked completely relaxed and unfazed as she glared at him. He shrugged. "That's what he's called, right?"

Imogen's hands tightened on the blades she held. She felt them shaking under her grip. How easy it would be to run him through with them. To take from Valentine what he had taken from her. No witnesses. She could say the boy attacked her. Who wouldn't believe the son of Valentine was capable of such a thing? She did not raise her blades however. She had plans and killing him now would ruin them. All the same— "_Don't you ever say his name," _she spit through clenched teeth. He had no right. None! And she would not stay her blade again. When he said nothing, she took a breath. Maybe he had some smarts after all. It took her a few more seconds to collect herself, and then she pointed to the middle of the training area with one of her blades. "Stand there in the center of the room, please."

She watched, her head cocked and her eyes narrowed as he moved away from her. He had his head lowered, though his shoulders were taught. She supposed that having his wrists bound together were making him sore. Not that she cared. His pain was nothing compared to what it could be, and for that the boy should be grateful. He should also be grateful that the Malachi Configuration was going to be the worst of his punishment—for now. Once he was where she wanted him, she moved forward. _If this was West then . . ._ she moved, coming to a stop at the Southern end of the room. Looking down at one of the blades, she studied it for a moment before deciding to name it Jophiel. It was a fitting name, for Christians believed she was the angel guarding the Tree of Life. And now she would guard the son of the Devil. Raising the blade over her head, she brought it down swiftly and sunk it into the wood floor. She felt it reverberate up her arms to her shoulders and neck. Standing up straight, she closed her eyes and stretched her head to one side, hearing her neck pop and feeling the tension lighten.

"Boom?" Jonathan said after a moment, his lips ticking upward. "Was something supposed to happen?"

Opening her eyes, she glared at the boy. "Shut up." She moved, stopping East of him. "And stay where you are." Looking at a second blade, she thought for a moment and then named it Harahel, the Angel of obedience and wisdom, before also sinking it into the floor. She could feel the boy's eyes on her as she moved to the North of him. Looking at another blade speculatively, she decided to name it Sandalphon, the angel of prayer and protector of children, before slamming it, too, into the wood at her feet. Lastly, she moved to the West of him. She would call this blade Taharial, the Angel of Purification. Another fitting one, as the boy could do with some protection from the negative influences his father had poisoned him with—not that it would help. The boy was too far gone. With that thought, she drove the blade deep into the wood. "There," she said pleased as she looked at each point she had created.

"There what?" Jonathan asked annoyed, but Imogen only smiled knowingly and held a hand up to stop him from asking anymore questions. She wasn't finished.

"Not quite yet, Jonathan," she said moving back to the Southern blade, making a complete counterclockwise circle. "There's one more thing." Kneeling down, she withdrew her stele and pressed it to the floor. In her mind, she called the rune that she would need—focused on it's meaning—and then burned it into the floor near the blade. When she was done, a melodic note reverberated through the room. Like a bell being rung sharply. Getting to her feet, she watched as light began to flow from the blades. In the center, Valentine's son turned away from the blinding rays, but not her. She forced herself to watch as the lights grew brighter and stretched out toward one another. Upon meeting, they melted together, creating a wall between them. And so it went for each side, until the boy was caged in the light that each blade produced. Now that it was done, the light was no longer bright but more like a glowing waterfall, and Imogen watched as Jonathan looked back up at her. He was angry now. She could see it on his usually smug face—the first sign of true emotion. And she reveled in it.

"What is this?" He asked looking around appalled. "What have you done?" His anger made her laugh and his panic made her gleeful. Finally he was realizing the amount of trouble he was in. How serious the situation was. She knew she would get through to him eventually. But she didn't answer. Instead she raised a challenging brow toward him and watch as he moved angrily toward her, indignation on his face. And then she watched, a smile on her face, as his shoulder hit the wall of light that caged him. He was knocked instantly backward—all those grace and balance runes on his skin doing nothing for him as he fell awkwardly on his ass. She could have warned him, she supposed. But why do that when she could watch him instead learn for himself that she meant business. She was definitely a hands-on teacher when it came to the boy, and she laughed again as Jonathan shot a look of hatred at her.

"If you try to walk _through _the wall, you'll get more than a shock," she said delighted. "The Clave calls this particular punishment the Malachi Configuration." And rightfully so, she thought. Malachi was the Prophet who spurned those who questioned God's will. And just like Malachi knew that those people would receive God's judgement, Jonathan would be stuck waiting to receive hers. She cocked her head to look at the boy. He wasn't so arrogant now, was he? Funny how being in a room with someone who would not be deceived by his looks and charms, could cause him to show his true self. "These walls cant be broken as long as the seraph blades remain where they are." And the stupid boy made to reach for one of them. "I wouldn't," she cautioned airily. "Touch the blades and you'll die."

Despite the disgust on his face, he lowered his hands, taking her at her word. Wise. "But _you_ can touch them," he spit.

_Of course._ "I can," she grinned, nodding. Only the one who made it could touch it. "But I wont."

"But what about food? Water?" He asked with incredulity.

"All in good time, Jonathan." Amusement colored her tone. And then she turned toward the door. She would leave him to think about that. To think about what his lies have cost him. To think about what his _father_ had cost him. Not that he need to worry about his father. He would see him soon enough, and then he could hash that out with him later.

"But my hands!" Jonathan called out behind her. She stopped and turned her head. From her peripheral, she could see that he had gotten back to this feet. She considered this for a moment. _She_ could reach through the light—remove the Marks that bound his wrists. But it would be better if she didn't. He should suffer this consequence. How could he ever learn if he was not punished?

"You should have thought of that before you went to see Valentine," she said pointedly. And then she continued to the door.

"You're not exactly making me fear the revenge of the Council," he said suddenly, his tone flat. "The can't be worse than you."

At this, she rounded on him. _Silly, silly, boy. _"Oh, you're not going back to the Council," Imogen said quietly, her voice cool as she crossed slowly back over to him. Even through the ripple of light, she could see the nervousness pass over his face. Good.

"What do you mean, I'm not going to the council?" he asked. "I thought you said you were taking me to Idris tomorrow?"

Imogen considered this. She supposed she could tell him now. It might even give him something to look forward to. "No," she said. "I'm planning to return you to your father."

The boy took a step back, a look of shock on his face. _"My father?"_

She rolled her eyes. _What's wrong son of Valentine? Worried you won't be able to complete your duties as a spy? _Or perhaps the boy was simply enjoying his freedom and his fan base. "Your father," she echoed then. "I'm planning to trade you to him for the Mortal Instruments."

The boy blinked is infuriating eyes, his face blank now. "You must be joking."

"Not at all." _And it's more than he should be allowed. _Imogen crossed her arms. "It's simpler than a trial." And then she tilted her head thoughtfully. "Of course, you'll be banned from the Clave—but I assume you expected that." He probably knew that would happen from the beginning. She was sure Valentine had probably even prepared him for it years ago. Following in his father's footsteps—he must be so proud of himself. But the boy was shaking his head.

Taking a breath, he looked at her. "You have the wrong guy. I hope you realize that."

Irritation surged though her. The wrong guy? This was Jonathan Morgenstern—the son of Valentine. She knew what his father was capable of and therefore what the boy was capable of. And she knew why he was here. And yet he _still _wanted to act like he was the victim? "I thought we had dispensed with your pretense of innocence, Jonathan."

"I didn't mean me." He was still shaking his head, his golden-white hair such a perfect mixture of both Stephen and Valentine, that she couldn't look away. "I meant my father."

This brought her up short, her brows furrowing. "I don't understand what you mean."

Jonathan's golden eyes looked at her piercingly. "My father won't trade the Mortal Instruments for me," he said flatly and straight forward. "He'd let you kill me in front of him before he'd hand you either the Sword or the Cup."

Imogen shook her head at his words. Perhaps that is what he hoped his father would do. And maybe if they were in that sort of position, the boy would even tell his father to do it. It was clear he believed in his father's work to the point of sacrificing himself. But he also wasn't a father. "You don't understand," she said, unable to hide her bitter tone. Valentine was a father—his son was alive. Her heart constricted. "Children never do. The love a parent has for a child, there _is _nothing else like it. No other love is so consuming. No father—not even Valentine—would sacrifice his son for a hunk of metal, no matter how powerful." And it was more than the bastard deserved.

Jonathan raised a brow as though he thought she was ridiculous. "You don't know my father. He'll laugh in your face and offer you some money to mail my body back to Idris."

Annoyed, Imogen's head gave a hard spasmodic jerk as if she had been slapped. "Don't be absurd—"

"You're right," the boy cut her off with speculation, the arrogance back in full force. "Come to think of it, he'll probably make you pay the shipping charges yourself."

Drawing her shoulders back, she glared at the boy who was a Morgenstern yet dared to look like a Herondale. He was wrong. "I see that you're still your father's son," she said with forced patience. "You don't want him to lose the Mortal Instruments—it would be a loss of power to you as well. You don't want to live out your life as the disgraced son of a criminal, so you'll do anything to sway my decision. But you don't fool me."

The boy stumbled forward, but was careful not to touch the light. His face was pained. "Listen," and she could hear the pleading in his tone. He was wasting his time with his false remorse. "I know you hate me," he began. "I know you think I'm a liar like my father. But I'm telling you the truth now. My father absolutely believes in what he's doing. You think he's evil, but he thinks he's _right. _He thinks he's doing God's work. He won't give that up for me. You were tracking me when I went out there, you must have heard what he said—"

"I _saw_ you speak to him," Imogen cut him off, her tone bored. "I _heard _nothing."

"_Shit," _the boy cursed and looked away. Imogen had to bite back on a smile. _That's right, Jonathan Morgenstern—once again, you are unable to lie to me. _But the boy was persistent. When he looked back up, his eyes were wide. "Look, I'll swear any oath you want to prove I'm not lying. He's using the Sword and the Cup to summon demons and control them. The more you waste your time with me, the more he can build up his army. By the time you realize he won't make the trade, you'll have no chance against him—"

_Enough of this._ Imogen turned on her heel, letting out a snort of disgust as she did. And if he expected her to applaud his performance, he was going to be sorely disappointed. He would soon learn that not everyone was a fan. "I'm tired of your lies," she spit, moving toward the door once more. Reaching for the handle, she turned it.

_"__Please!" _The boy cried out, stopping her. And in that moment, she heard not the cry of Jonathan Morgenstern—the son of Valentine—but the cry of a scared child. She locked her jaw, her body rigid as she turned to look at him, her grip tight on the door as she took a shallow breath. He looked like him—like her son. All but his eyes, which were golden and not blue. Surely, Valentine must have noticed this—saw the irony in it. And now the son of Valentine was pleading with her. _Please—_that is what she had asked God when she found her son's lifeless body. _Please don't take him. _And then it was what she had asked Lucifer when God had not answered. _Please bring him back._ She often wondered if Stephen had uttered that word before he was murdered. And later it would be what she asked God when hunting down those who had killed him. _Please let there be justice._ That prayer had been answered. Oh yes, there had been justice. She had delivered it herself. But now this—this was the one form of justice she was denying herself.

"Don't think that returning you to your father is what I _want_ to do," she said softly. No, what she _wanted_ to do was to hurt Valentine. To break him as he had broken her. To take from him his reason for living and leave him with nothing but his own guilt at knowing it was his fault. She took a breath, her hands balled in fists. "It's more than Valentine Morgenstern deserves."

Jonathan looked at her somberly. "What does he deserve?"

Imogen's heart began to race as she looked at Valentine's son, her eyes narrowing. "To hold the dead body of his child in his arms," she said with a quite calm. "To see his dead son and know that there is nothing he can do, no spell, no incantation, no bargain with hell that will bring him back—" She cut herself off as her tone grew bitter and angry, her chin quivering. Turning, she grabbed the handle, her breathing hard. "He should _know." _

Pulling open the door, she left quickly letting it slam behind her before the son of Valentine could see her tears fall.

**######**

Alec ducked for the third time as something whizzed past his head. This one had come a lot closer than the last two. Upon knocking on Isabelle's door, Max had answered with his arms full of random objects. Upon seeing his brother, he had immediately started to lob them at his head. He was done trying to make them see reason, he decided as a _chakram_ hit the wall. A _chakram? Really? _He spun to yell at Max, but Isabelle's door was already slamming shut. How stupid could they be? Shaking his head, he turned down another hall.

They had returned to the Institute some time ago, and Isabelle and Max have been pissed at him ever since. As for Jace—the Inquisitor had ushered him almost immediately away from everyone else with the instructions to not follow. It would be some time before they found out where she had taken him. Apparently he was being kept prisoner in the Training room, which she had also announced was off limits to everyone but her. This made Alec wonder what she had done to Jace to get him to stay in there; because if he knew his _parabatai,_ he was probably already on the L train back to Luke's. Not that he could check. At least not yet. Later, after the Inquisitor had disappeared into the library with his parents, Alec had made a beeline for Isabelle's room to tell her what he was planning to do. Instead, he got screeches of betrayal and damnation.

And now apparently his younger brother wanted him beheaded. Alec shook his head. Seriously, did they honestly think that screaming at the Inquisitor and trying to protect Jace was going to be doing him any favors? So now he headed to the Training room alone, and it wasn't long before he was standing outside the room. Placing a hand on the door, Alec looked around quickly, his stomach twisting slightly. He guessed this meant the Fearless rune had finally worn off, because he would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous about being caught. He was pretty sure that out of all of them, however, he was the only one the Inquisitor wasn't watching. He pushed open the door.

The light was bright at first, but Alec was sure it was because he wasn't expecting it. Even now, it was getting duller. He looked around curiously and then back at the circle of light. Jace was in the middle of it, lying on his back. He didn't say anything to his _parabatai_ as he watched him. And then his gaze flickered to the wall of light once more. It must be a cage of some sort, though it was missing a top. Not that it needed it. The walls of light were a good twenty feet high, at least. And it seemed that they were all held in place by four blades that had been driven into the wood floor. _Mom wont like that, _he thought sardonically looking back up at the rafters above. But then again, maybe that's exactly why the Inquisitor picked this room. The Training room and the Library were probably the only rooms with high enough ceilings to allow this monstrosity.

As he took a step forward, Jace bolted upright. Alec could see him rather clearly from here, though every once in awhile a ripple went through the light that distorted his face. Like a clear pond that sporadically had a pebble dropped in it. His clothes were still dirty and torn from the night before, and his hands were still held by the Binding rune. Why hadn't the Inquisitor removed that after creating the cage, Alec wondered. Probably because Jace pissed her off, he answered himself grimly. Alec sighed just as his brother called out his name.

"It's me," Alec answered, kneeling down next to the glowing wall. From here he thought he heard the hum of the two blades that stood on either side of him. He frowned. "What in the Angel's name is this stuff?" He asked reaching forward.

"Don't," Jace cautioned quickly, his own bound hands darting out to stop him, but then he quickly brought them back against him, having never touched the wall. "It'll shock you," Jace explained. "Maybe kill you if you try to pass through it."

Alec drew his own hand back, letting out a low whistle as he looked at the four blades again. So he was right. It was a cage of sorts. "The Inquisitor meant business."

"Of course she did," Jace snapped. "I'm a dangerous criminal. Or hadn't you heard?" His tone was razor sharp and bitter as he glared at Alec with the kind of anger that he knew his brother usually only reserved for people who had managed to get past his emotional blockade. Never had it been directed at him before though, and he couldn't help but to wince as if he had been slapped. He quickly tried to cover it, running his hand through his hair.

"She didn't call you a criminal, exactly . . ."

"No," Jace cut him off. "I'm just a very naughty boy. I do all sorts of bad things. I kick kittens. I make rude gestures at nuns."

Alec stared at him. Why did he always have to turn everything into a joke? Did he even realize what was happening here—what could happen to him? What he had done? "Don't joke," he said shaking his head solemnly. "This is serious stuff." Jace rolled his eyes, and Alec became incensed. Getting to his feet, he began pacing. "What the hell were you thinking, going to see Valentine?" And then he rounded on his _parabatai _as he threw his hands in the air_. _"I mean, seriously, what was going through your head?"

Jace stared at him, but he didn't reply. Alec would wait. He wanted to know why—_had_ to know. After awhile, Jace sighed. "I was thinking that he's my father."

_Are you fucking kidding me? That he's your—that you went— _Alec closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _One. Two. Three—I'm going to kill you. Four. Five. Six. Seven—or at least hit you in the jaw. Eight. Nine. Ten. _When he opened them again, he expelled his breath. "Jace—"

"What if it was your father?" Jace asked, his voice tight. "What would you do?"

"_My _father?" Alec said with disbelief. Alec may not always agree one hundred percent with his father, but— "My father would never do the things that Valentine—"

"Your father _did_ _do those things!" _Jace practically shouted at him. "He was in the Circle along with my father! Your mother, too! Our parents were all the same. The only difference is that your parents got caught and punished and mine didn't—"

"The _only_ difference?" It was all Alec could get through the constriction in his throat, before turning away from Jace. Yes, his father had been in the Circle. He wouldn't deny that. But his father had renounced the Circle, too. Had renounced Valentine. And _his_ father wasn't a murderous psychopath who had abused and abandoned—Alec jerked the thought from his head, his chest heaving. It took a moment, but when he was sure he could control his tone, he looked back at his brother. "I just meant," he began as calmly as he could, kneeling back down in front of the wall of light, "that I don't see how you could want to see him, not after what he's done in general, but after what he did to _you." _He tried to catch Jace's eyes as he said this, but his brother looked away. "All those year," Alec ventured on. "He let you think he was dead." He shook his head. "Maybe you don't remember what it was like when you were ten years old, but I do." He remembered it like it was yesterday.

Jace didn't talked for month after he arrived at the Institute, and he barely ate. In fact, Alec had been the only one able to get him to eat, and even then, it was not much. And he jumped a lot, too—at shadows, at people he didn't know showing up, at loud noises. It was never anything huge, but Alec noticed. Hodge had said he needed time to grieve, but Alec didn't think that Jace was grieving. Anger, denial, acceptance . . . they said there were stages to death. But Alec had had a feeling that the emotions Jace was displaying were none of them. At one time, he had walked by Jace's room, which used to be next to his, and through the crack in the door saw him standing shirtless in front of the mirror. He was searching his body, but for what, Alec didn't know. After about three weeks, Jace had started coming in Alec's room after his mother would leave at night. He would sleep on the floor at the foot of his bed. He never asked if he could, and Alec never told him to stop. Jace's first words were to his mom. She had made breakfast, and upon setting a plate in front of him, she touched his shoulder as she always did right before she turned away. But this time he placed his hand over hers, holding her to him and said, "Thank you." Alec remembered that it had startled his mother, and she had had to look away to wipe a tear from her face. It wasn't long after that that his shining personality came through.

Alec shook his head. Sometimes he wished that the Rune of Remembrance wasn't a permanent one. "Nobody who loved you could do—could do anything like that," he breathed. But Jace still said nothing. He only continued to look at his hands. Alec suddenly wanted to reach through the light and force him to look at him. Shake him. Something. This was Jace—the guy who always had something to say. But he _only just looked at his hands_. Sighing, Alec sat down fully, stretching his legs out on the ground parallel with the beam of electric light. And then he cocked his head and frowned. There, near the bottom of one of the blades was what could almost be a hole in the wall. A flaw in the design, perhaps, and he studied it until Jace's intake of breath tore his attention away.

"Valentine told me," Jace began quietly, and still not looking at him, "that if I supported him against the Clave, if I did that, he'd make sure no one I cared about was hurt. Not you or Isabelle or Max. Not Clary. Not your parents. He said—"

"No one would be hurt?" Alec couldn't keep the disdain out of his tone. "You mean he wouldn't hurt them himself. Nice." He didn't even bother to ask what his brother's response was. He knew him—knew he would tell Valentine no. And probably in the most colorful of ways possible.

But Jace was shaking his head, his blonde locks falling into his eyes. "I saw what he can do, Alec. The kind of demonic force he can summon. If he brings his demon army against the Clave, there _will _be a war. And people get hurt in wars. They die in wars . . ." His voice trailed of as he looked up at Alec, and he could see the pain in his eyes. See the hurt and anger and fear that he had been so careful to hide up until now. He wished he could comfort him. To hold him and tell him it would be okay. But he couldn't. So instead he said nothing as Jace continued. "If you had the chance to save everyone you loved—"

"But what kind of chance is it?" Alec cut him off. "What's Valentine's word even worth?"

"If he swears on the Angel that he'll do something, he'll do it. I know him." Jace's tone was final as he stared back down at his wrists. Alec blinked. Sure, he won't kill them, but there were always loopholes. Whoops, Isabelle _accidentally_ fell off a cliff. Uh oh, Max got a little _too _ close to that demon. Alec knew better than to trust Valentine, and he knew that Jace did too. But it didn't matter, this was all contingent upon one thing anyway.

"_If_ you support him against the Clave," he said, and Jace nodded. Alec considered this for a moment. His _parabatai _might _think_ he knew his father, but he _definitely_ knew his _parabatai. _"He must have been pretty pissed when you said no."

Jace looked up at him, his golden eyes unreadable and his hair still sweeping across his face. He blinked. "What?"

Alec shrugged. "I said—"

"I know what you said," Jace cut him off irritably, though Alec had no clue why. "What makes you think I said no?"

Alec's stomach flipped. He knew his brother. And yet, Jace was just staring at him like he was wrong. And then he thought about it—really thought about it. What would he do if he thought the world was going to shit and that there was no hope of the good guy winning? And then, what if the bad guy offered to spare him and those he loved as long as he joined him—would he do it? Would he forsake everything he knew was right? Alec shook his head. No. He wouldn't. And neither would his brother. He couldn't have. He met his brother's golden eyes with his sapphire ones. "Well, you did. Didn't you?" And slowly—slower than Alec preferred, Jace nodded and he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. But he had been right. "I know you," he said with conviction before jumping lithely to his feet and stretching. He met his brother's gaze again. "You told the Inquisitor about Valentine and his plans, didn't you? And she didn't care."

Jace shrugged and winced. Holding up his bound hands, he eye'd them painfully. "I wouldn't say she didn't care," he said, lowering them back into his lap. "More like she didn't really believe me. She's got a plan she thinks will take care of Valentine. The only problem is, her plan sucks."

Looking around, Alec nodded. Yeah, that didn't surprise him much. So far everything this woman has done, has sucked. "You can fill me in on that later. First things first: We have to figure out how to get you out of here." He began walking around the glimmering cage. Twenty feet high, no top, can electrocute you if you touch it, and kill you if you pass through it. He wondered if Magnus would answer his phone. His stomach twisted at the thought. He didn't know if the warlock was still mad at him . . . but this was important! Maybe he could sneak him in here and—

_"__What?" _Jace was staring at him incredulously. Alec looked at him confused. What—he raised a brow at the incessant staring—what was the problem? Did he not want to get out? Surely he did. But Jace shook his head. "I thought you came down on the side of go directly to jail, do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars. 'The Law is the Law, Isabelle.' What was all that you were spouting." And Alec felt his eyes widen in shock. He had thought that was real? He really believed that his own _parabatai_ had turned on him? _No_. There's no way. And yet, as he stared at his brother and the look on his face—but wouldn't he have said something about it before now? Like maybe when he first walked in the room? Hell, Max and Isabelle had made it clear. But Jace? Alec was so sure that he, of all people, would have seen right through that ruse, to the point where he didn't think it even needed discussing. Jace could always tell when he was lying, because he was always so nervous when doing so.

But then . . . he hadn't been nervous, had he? He hadn't had even the slightest hangup about lying back at Luke's house. He knew the Fearless rune had worked, but now he was realizing to what effect. Alec pushed his fingers through his hair. "You can't have thought I _meant _that," he said sternly now. "I just wanted the Inquisitor to trust me so she wouldn't be watching me all the time like she's watching Izzy and Max. She knows they're on your side."

"And you?" Jace asked, his voice catching. Alec saw him swallow hard. "Are you on my side?"

Alec crossed back to him quickly, and got as close to the glimmering wall of death as he could. "I'm with you," he said with assurance, his blue eyes piercing the golden ones across from him. "Always." And then he shook his head, a hard laugh escaping his lips as he saw the gratitude on his brother's face. "Why do you even ask that?" he asked with no intent of letting him answer. "I may respect the Law, but what the Inquisitor has been doing to you has nothing to do with the Law. I don't know exactly what's going on, but the hatred she has for you is personal. It has nothing to go with the Clave."

"I bait her," Jace said with a shrug. "I can't help it. Vicious bureaucrats get under my skin."

"It's not that either," Alec said shaking his head. "It's an old hate. I can feel it." And he could. He could feel it coming from the Inquisitor the first time he saw her. This woman was out for blood. And she intended it to be Jace's. But why? Why him? It couldn't _just_ be because he was Valentine's son. There had to be more—

At that moment, the cathedral bells began to chime and both he and Jace looked up. They were close to the roof so it was loud. With each ring, the cage of light rippled and the floor vibrated. Alec was still looking up at the rafters when Jace spoke. "Luke said something about the Inquisitor having a son named Stephen," he said, and Alec lowered his gaze back down to his _parabatai._ "He said she was trying to get even for him. I asked her about him and she freaked out. I think it might have something to do with why she hates me so much."

Alec considered this. He remembered how Luke had mentioned something about Stephen to her back at his house. Something like, _"So this is about Stephen after all." _And he remembered how the Inquisitor had flipped out then, too. "Maybe," he nodded. "I could ask my parents, but I doubt they'd tell me."

"No," Jace said, shaking his head. "Don't ask them. Ask Luke."

It seemed his brother remembered that as well, but—how the hell was he supposed to do that? "Go back to Brooklyn, you mean?" Alec asked, raising a brow. "Look, sneaking out of here is going to be all but impossible—"

Jace rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. "Use Isabelle's phone. Text Clary. Tell her to ask Luke." He spoke like he was giving instructions to a child, and Alec wasn't sure whether he should be offended or not. Granted, he was the one who seemed to have forgotten that they live in the age of smartphones and texting, so he guessed he really couldn't be.

"Okay," he said popping to his feet once more and crossing to the door. He stopped with his hand on the knob and looked back at his brother. "Do you want me to say anything else to her for you? To Clary, I mean, not Isabelle."

Jace was quiet, and Alec felt his heart sink. This wasn't easy, and he was starting to think it never would be. They might be able to save lives, but they would never be able to save hearts from being broken. "No," he said finally, his face going blank. "I don't have anything to say to her."

Alec frowned and took a hesitant step back toward him. "Jace—"

"You're wasting time."

Alec nodded and left the room. It was while walking up the corridor that he realized that maybe he should be trying to be a bit more stealthy about where he is, and where he was coming from. Hide in the shadows—dart between halls. He was sure that that was something someone else might do. But he wasn't someone else. He was him, and he was just going to shove his hands in his pockets and keep walking. If someone came along, he would play stupid. He had been feeling pretty stupid as of late, so it wouldn't be too far of a stretch. He thought about Magnus as he walked. He had hurt the warlock by denying their relationship—he knew that now. But he didn't know how to fix it either. And then there was Jace, who knew he was gay—though he still hadn't figured out how he knew. Even out in front of Luke's, when he was telling him just how okay with it he was, he had never told him what, or who, gave it away. Not that it mattered. In fact, none of it mattered. What mattered was getting Jace out of that glowing box of death. Suddenly he felt guilty for even thinking about his personal problems when his _parabatai_ was in trouble. And then he all but ran to Izzy's room.

"Iz," he knocked on the door. "Izzy!"

"Go away, asshole!"

Alec sighed. "Max—language! Isabelle, open your door!"

Something hit it hard. "Fuck off!" This time it was his sister.

_"__Isabelle!" _He breathed through clenched teeth pounding on the door again. "This is important!"

"Sorry! I can't hear you!" She sang out from the other side of the door. "Must be because you're a douchepants. And we don't listen to douchepants. Do we, Max?"

"Nope!"

"Are you both kidding me right—" Something hit the door again, cutting him off. All the patience in the world wasn't enough for this. And it wasn't like he could just shout through the door that this was about rescuing Jace! You never knew who might be listening in. Alec groaned with frustration. "You're being ridiculous!"

"Ridiculous is turning on Jace!" Isabelle screamed through the door, and something hit it hard again. "Ridiculous is taking the side of that horrid woman. He's your brother, Alexander! Your _parabatai! _And you betrayed—"

"Open the door or I'll break it down!" Alec shouted angrily, all patience gone.

"Break it down and I jump out the window!" She screamed back. "And don't think I won't, you back stabbing, pathetic excuse for a—"

"Isabelle! This isn't a joke!" Alec hit the door hard with his fist. "And you can't jump out the window. Not unless you were planning on getting yourself killed." This was followed by several things hitting the door—one by one and all at once. Jesus Christ, at this rate they would break down the door for him. He waited, but the barrage of objects didn't stop and didn't slow. Finally he sighed and gave up. He would just have to think of something else. There was a phone in the library, but he didn't know Clary's number. Maybe he could get lucky, though. The last person to use that phone as far as he knew was Clary when she had called Simon to borrow his van. He knew it was a long shot, but what else could he do? He would have to make sure that his parents and the Inquisitor weren't in there, though.

Standing outside the library door, he listened intently but heard nothing—not that that meant anything. For all he knew, they just weren't yelling anymore. _Just do it, _he told himself_._ Taking a breath, Alec felt his heart racing as he pushed on the intricately carved doors and stepped inside. He froze immediately after closing the doors softly behind him, listening for anything. Some sign that he wasn't alone in here. After a few minutes, he moved forward, being careful not to make any noise. He was sweating by the time he reached the end of the book shelves. But he still hadn't heard anything. And then he glanced around the corner to where Hodge's desk sat—or at least, what was once Hodge's desk. Either way, it was empty. He was alone. Letting out a sigh of relief, Alec moved forward quickly and rounded the desk. Papers and fruit littered it, along with many other things that he had no interest in. Lifting the phone off the receiver, he pressed it against his ear and hit the redial button. It rang twice.

"Hello?" It was a young voice that Alec didn't recognize, and he quickly slammed the phone down quickly. He couldn't give up. Jace would never give up on him. Turning back to the desk, he began pulling open drawers. Perhaps Hodge had kept an address book. People still used those, right? Sighing, he began pushing aside more papers, pencils, pens, a lone quarter, and other crap that would do him absolutely no good. He felt hopeless and frustration wash over him. Now not only did he wish to find Clary's number so that he could talk to Luke—but he wished Clary was actually here. Maybe she could create a rune to get Jace out. But then, maybe Jace could create runes, too. They were related after all. And hadn't she told him about having a gift as well? He really wished Isabelle was here to brainstorm with him. But no, she was busy planning to jump to her death. She wasn't Jace after all—

It was like something smacked his head. Of course! The Angel's own gift. That's what Clary had said. And hadn't Jace been able to do all sorts of crazy things in the past? Like jumping from buildings at heights that should have killed him, surviving falls through several floors, and moving with speeds that even Alec knew on some level should be impossible. Could it be possible? It was worth a shot, he guessed. He was just about to slam the drawer shut and bail from the library, when a small piece of metal caught his eye. It was the quarter again. Reaching down, he plucked it up before shutting the drawer. He then began turning the coin over in his hand absently as he searched the top of the desk one more time. But there was still nothing that could help him. Well there was the fruit. He doubted the Inquisitor had fed Jace since they returned, which meant that the last thing he ate was the doughnuts. He picked up an apple and left the library.

Alec walked slowly, trying to make it seem like there was no purpose to which way he was going in case he ran into anyone. To add to that illusion, he began tossing the apple mindless in the air with one hand, while sliding his thumb along the smooth face of the quarter with his other. And then he stopped. Quarters weren't smooth. Looking down at the coin, he saw it wasn't a quarter at all. And then his heart gave a leap. He had seen his both of his parents use this at one time. Was this—could he be so lucky? It was worth giving it a shot, anyway. And then he really had to work on walking back to the Training room as his excitement grew. Like before, he looked around cautiously before entering. And like before, Jace was lying on the floor again. But this time he was on his side and his eyes were closed—though his head was bobbing as if there were music playing.

"What are you doing?" He asked. Moving forward, Alec kneeled at the glowing prison next to the blade he had seen the hole near. Setting down the apple, he began to search for it. To his relief, it was still there. The one dark spot on the wall of light—like a Christmas tree with a burnt out bulb. He looked back at Jace, who had his eyes open now and was staring at him blankly.

"I thought I'd lie on the floor and writhe in pain for awhile," Jace finally said with a grunt. "It relaxes me."

Alec raised a brow. "It does?" He guessed it shouldn't surprise him. Pain, fighting, they were as good as sex to him. But then he saw the look on his brother's face and felt his own cheeks redden. "Oh—you're being sarcastic." He should have known. All the same though— "That's a good sign, probably." And Jace rolled his eyes. Leaning back, Alec picked the apple back up. "If you can sit up, you might want to," he said, eyeing the hole again. The apple should fit. Maybe. "I'm going to try to slide something through the wall."

"Alec, don't—"

But it was too late, and he wouldn't have listened to him anyway. As Jace darted up quickly into a sitting position, Alec was already pushing the apple toward the defect in the wall. He used two hands to assure accuracy. He waited until he was just close enough to touch the wall—close enough to receive the shock Jace had warned him about—before he rolled the apple through and drew his hands back quickly. And it worked. The apple rolled forward untouched and then came to a stop against his brother's knee.

"An apple." Jace picked up the red fruit and looked at it curiously. And then he looked at the blade that sat North of him. "How appropriate." Alec didn't get it, and instead he shrugged.

"I thought you might be hungry," he said as an explanation.

"I am," his brother admitted, taking an awkward bite from his bound hands. Alec could hear the sizzle of the juice hitting the Binding runes. Jace took another bite. "Did you text Clary?"

Alec shook his head. "No. Isabelle won't let me into her room. She just throws things against the door and screams. She said if I came in she'd jump out the window. She'd do it too."

"Probably," Jace conceded.

"I get the feeling," Alec began, unable to keep from grinning, "she hasn't forgiven me for betraying you, as she sees it." Boy was that an understatement.

But Jace only nodded with appreciation. "Good girl."

"I _didn't_ betray you, idiot," Alec laughed, rolling his eyes. But his brother only shrugged as if this made absolutely no difference.

"It's the thought that counts."

Alec was glad to hear that. "Good," he said seriously now, turning the disk in his fingers, "because I brought you something else, too. I don't know if it'll work, but it's worth a try." And then just as carefully as he had done the apple, he slid the disk through the crack in the wall, pulling back just before he could be electrocuted. And then he watched as Jace's brow furrowed. Setting down his apple, he picked up the small metal disk.

"What's this?" he asked, examining it as closely as he could with bound hands.

"I got it out of the desk in the library," said Alec. "I've seen my parents use it before to take off restraints. I think it's an Unlocking rune. It's worth trying—" Jace was already trying. And succeeding. The moment he touched the disk to his wrists, the Binding rune disappeared. Alec grinned widely and watched as his _parabatai _rubbed at his now free, but incredibly raw, wrists. And then he looked at the wall of light, following it up toward the ceiling once more, and his grin evaporated.

"Thanks," Jace said, regaining Alec's attention, the relief in his tone palpable. "It's not a file in a birthday cake, but it'll keep my hands from falling off."

Alec nodded, and then he raked his fingers through his hair as he thought about how best to bring up the other thing he had realized. He supposed there was no best way, and that he should just say it. He took a breath. "You know, something occurred to me when I was talking to Isabelle earlier." Jace raised a brow but said nothing, and Alec continued. "I told her she couldn't jump out the window—and not to try or she'd get herself killed."

"Sound big-brotherly advice." Jace nodded, and Alec couldn't tell if he was being serious or if he was mocking him. Probably the latter, so he chose to ignore it and continue on.

"But then I started wondering if that was true in your case—I mean, I've seen you do things that were practically flying. I've seen you fall three stories and land like a cat, jump from the ground to roof—"

"Hearing my achievement recited is certainly gratifying," Jace cut him off with an amused smile playing on his lips. "But I'm not sure what your point is."

"My point," said Alec, "is that there are four walls to this prison, not five." But if had had expected that his brother would jump up and down, he was sorely disappointed. All he got was a look of incredulity. Where was the realization? The excitement? Anything? Really? Jace blinked, his brow raising.

"So Hodge wasn't lying when he said we'd actually use geometry in our daily lives." He said mockingly. "You're right Alec. There are four walls to this cage. Now if the Inquisitor had gone with two, I might—"

"JACE," Alec shouted at him angrily. Was he really _that _stupid. He had heard that there were people who could just get by on their looks, but this was pushing it. "I mean," he said now with a forced calm, though his eyes wanted so badly to roll into the back of his head, "there's no _top_ to the cage. Nothing between you and the ceiling."

At this, Jace went silent and then tilted his head back to look up at the rafters. "You're crazy," he breathed after a short pause.

"Maybe," Alec shrugged, unfazed. "Maybe I just know what you can do." _I've seen what you can do._ "You could try at least."

Lowering his head, Jace met his eyes, and Alec could see the worry in them. The fear of failure. But there was something more. Determination. He could do this, he just had to believe in himself like _he _believed in him. Slowly, Jace shook his head and Alec nodded. _Try. _It was all he wanted him to do. Just try. The Angel's own gift, Clary had said it herself—said the Seelie Queen had mentioned it too. Faeries can't lie, and neither did Alec's eyes. He knew what he had seen his _parabatai_ do. And a lot of it defied all laws of gravity. With a heavy sigh, Jace pushed himself to his feet and stared back up at the ceiling as if really considering it. And then he looked at the shimmering prison that surrounded him before reaching down and picking his apple back up. Was he really thinking about eating right now, Alec wondered. But Jace didn't say anything. Instead, he looked from the apple to the glowing wall and then back at the apple. Without warning, he sent it sailing through the air and into the glimmering cage—where it exploded into blue flames.

Alec gasped, pushing himself to his feet quickly. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he shouldn't do this. What if he couldn't? What if he had been wrong? "Jace, I don't know—"

"Shut up, Alec." Jace said, though it was not unkindly. He was looking up at the rafters again, determination on his face. "And don't watch me. It's not helping."

"Being turned into a human torch wont help you either," Alec quipped, but Jace didn't respond. He was turning in place now, his eyes still on the ceiling.

Alec took a step back. And then another one. He kept going until his back was pressed against one of the cool walls, and he watched as his _parabatai_ moved the circumference of his circle. This was a bad idea, and he felt nauseous. Why had he suggested something so stupid? And why was his stupid brother listening to him? When did he ever listen to him? Alec pushed his fingers nervously through his hair as Jace came to stand in the center of his prison again. From here he could see him flexing his fingers as he studied the rafters above him. Was he grinning? Of course he was. Leave it to his _parabatai_ to grin when he was about to do something foolishly dangerous. And he could see his lips moving. A second later, he jumped.

Jace had told Alec not to watch . . . but how could he not?


	16. The Angel's Gifts

**~Chapter Fifteen~**

**The Angel's Gifts**

The strangest part about this whole thing, wasn't jumping thirty feet into the air from a standstill. It wasn't wrapping his hand around the chipped wooden beam that crossed the ceiling. And it wasn't pulling himself up easily onto it as if absolutely no effort had been exerted. No. The strangest part about finding out he could actually jump thirty feet into the air, came from when he was perched in the rafters and looking down at Alec. He had never seen his _parabatai_ look at him like that before. Jace knew he was amazing, but damned if he wasn't being stared at now like he was something completely otherworldly. A small chuckle escaped his lips, adrenaline coursing through his veins and pounding in his ears. And then his eyes moved to the glimmering prison. It looked bigger from here, but from the inside, he knew it was small. Claustrophobic almost. He wished he could be here when the Inquisitor came back and found him gone. He could watch as silently like a bird as she cursed and pulled out her hair—though he only assumed that that's what she would do. Grinning, he moved his way quickly and expertly across the beam, toward the outside of the Malachi Configuration. He could feel Alec's eyes on him the whole time.

Once he was positioned near his brother, he looked down at the polished hardwood floor below him. A thirty foot jump meant a thirty foot drop. But this time, he didn't think. And he didn't hesitate. He stepped off the beam and heard the whoosh of wind in his ears as time slowed him down into a leisurely fall. As the ground came up to meet him, he braced himself for impact. He landed in a crouch, and then popped up quickly to meet Alec's astonished eyes. "That—was fucking awesome," Jace couldn't keep himself from saying. Nor could he keep the grin off his face. He felt like a live-wire. Like he could do anything. What else _could_ he do, he wondered looking around. Next to him, Alec was still staring at him with wide-eyed wonder.

"I knew you were—" He stopped, shaking his head. "I guess Clary was right. You have a gift."

Jace looked at his brother and seeing the profound awe on his face, he suddenly didn't feel as excited. He was the same person, and he didn't want everyone looking at him like that. And then the real truth of it hit him. He wasn't gifted. He was an experiment. He and Clary both. Biting the inside of his cheek, his smile faltering, he looked around. He felt foolish for being excited. "Yeah, I guess she was," he said quietly before changing the subject. "Should we go see Iz? We still need to text Luke and then I need to leave. I can't be in the Institute when she finds me gone."

Alec ran his fingers through his hair and nodded. "Sure," he said, though he really didn't look sure at all. And Jace grinned. Isabelle had threatened to jump out the window. Served him right for making everyone believe he was on the side of that sadistic psychopath. Seeing the grin back on his face, however, Alec scowled as if he knew exactly what he was thinking. _"I_ _didn't betray you."_ Okay, so he _did_ know exactly what Jace was thinking. This only made him smile wider.

"Of course not, dear brother," Jace said overly earnest, and Alec rolled his eyes. Turning toward the door, he looked at it speculatively. He was on the lamb now, so he would have to be careful about this. Rubbing his sore and blackened wrists absently, he looked back at his brother. "Is it safe to leave that way?"

"No one was out in the hall when I came in," Alec said crossing to the door. "But my parents and the Inquisitor are not in the library anymore—so there's no telling where they might be, or when _she_ might be back." And Jace knew immediately who _'she'_ was, which meant they needed to go. Now. Something his _parabatai _seemed to be fully aware of. "We need to decide how best to get you out."

Jace thought about this, staring at the door and then the window. _Could he do it? _he wondered. There was no way he could tell Alec what he was thinking. His brother would flip out. "Go ahead," he said finally, gesturing toward the door. "We'll meet up in Izzy's room."

"And leave you?" Alec asked with a look that clearly said this was a stupid idea. "What if the Inquisitor caught you?"

"She would slap my wrists and tell me what a naughty boy I am," Jace quipped. "Send me back to my cell without supper."

"I'm serious," Alec snapped, but Jace just smiled.

"So am I—do you realize how much it would suck if she slapped my wrists?" _Lest you have forgotten. _Just in case he had, Jace held them up; showing the charred, bleeding, and cracked skin that circled them. "They hurt like a bitch, so she would do it simply to spite me and cause me pain, the sadistic cow. We both know it's true—"

_"__Jace," _Alec cut him off, and this time Jace took a breath.

"Look, if she catches me, she really will probably just stuff me back in that cell while trying to figure out how the hell I did it. Or maybe she'll find another way to imprison me. If she catches me with _you—_" Jace shook his head. "Who knows what she would do to you. Besides, it'll be easier to duck out of sight if I'm by myself."

Alec didn't look convinced. "She could still catch you."

Jace looked at his brother and raised a brow, "You know, your confidence in me leaves something to be desired."

"I _do_ have confidence in you. It's just—" Alec shook his head, as if coming to some sort of realization. He must be fully comprehending the amount of trouble he would get in, Jace decided. Alec took a breath, and then captured his brother's gaze. "Just promise me you'll be careful."

"Careful is my middle name," Jace said, leaning against the wall.

Alec scoffed. "And here I thought it was Christopher."

"You know—you people really need to stop getting my middle name wrong." Jace grinned at Alec's confused expression before pulling open the door and ushering him out. Once his _parabatai_ was gone, and the door shut again, Jace crossed quickly to the nearby window and pushed it open. The cool breeze was light on his skin, and he took a moment to revel in the fresh air before swinging himself out of the window and onto the ledge. _Oh . . . shit. _

Taking a sidestep away from the window, he felt his heart pounding and his breathing hitch as he looked down at the road below. Probably not a good idea, he realized a little too late. His back was against the stone building and he slid his hands along it feeling the bumps, grooves, and chips in it. The wind felt stronger out here than it had before, and he took a second to pull his jacket tighter around himself. _Turn around, stupid. _Jace closed his eyes and smiled. Just like before, the voice in his head sounded like Clary. _This is nothing compared to what you have done before, and what you will do after. You could scale this wall with the ease if you wished. _

Jace opened his eyes and studied the slab on either side of him. He felt light and agile. His Sight rune kicked in then and he was able to see each groove and chip in the wall. But it was more than just that, and Jace couldn't explain it. He knew, without knowing how, the best places to grab, which spots to dig his feet into, and which parts of the ledges were too weak to hold his weight. He could move as nimbly as a cat and with the same assurance of a monkey climbing a tree. Suddenly his heart rate slowed, and he was moving quickly across the ledge—grabbing the ledge above him and swinging over the compromised areas when needed, and scaling the wall quickly when time. He could feel the sweat beading on his skin and wetting his hair, but it wasn't because he was nervous or scared. Far from it. No, if anything, he felt giddy at this newly realized freedom. Clary may be able to draw, but what Jace was able to do was one step away from defying gravity.

He was careful when passing windows, too; opting to either grab the ledge above and use it lift and contort his body over the reflective panes, or to dangle from the ledge by his hands and walk himself across. It always depended on how low or how high the window sat. Either way, the last thing he needed was the Inquisitor to catch him out here using the side of the Institute like a jungle gym.

As Jace rounded one of the stone statues that overlooked the Institute, he came to a stop near an open window. Inside, he could hear arguing. He knew that he should keep going. Knew that it was none of his business. But he couldn't help his curiosity. Crouching low, he edged to the window, making sure to keep out of sight.

"—and Jace? What about him?" It was Maryse.

"What about him?" Robert asked. "There's nothing we can do, Maryse. Imogen is not going to listen to reason."

"So you're just going to leave, then?" Maryse snapped. "That's your plan?" And Jace could hear the anger and hurt in her voice.

"I'm needed in Alicante," Robert said irritably.

_"__You're needed here!"_ Maryse shouted. "You're not leaving right now. So help me Robert, you're not running from this! You're not leaving me to pick up the pieces _again_."

_"__Again?"_ Jace heard Robert hiss. "Need I remind you that we would never be in this mess had you not had some infatuation with Valentine in the first place? I didn't _want_ to be apart of the Circle, Maryse. I just wanted to be with you. But that wasn't enough, was it? Oh, not for Maryse Trueblood—"

"Do not put this on me, Robert!" Maryse breathed. "I never forced you into the Circle. Freedom of choice. You could have walked away."

There was silence following this. And then— "I wish I had."

Jace's stomach dropped at the same moment that he heard a door shut from somewhere inside. He wasn't sure what he should say or do. Nothing. There was nothing he could do. His father had driven a wedge between Maryse and Robert, and now it would seem that he was being used to keep that wedge in place. Would he ever stop hurting the people he loved? _Why do you have to ruin everything?_ Clary's words once again reverberated through his head. It wasn't until he heard a sob come from somewhere in the room that he knew he had to move. Never had he heard Maryse cry before, and the idea that she even did was startling and disconcerting. She was strong and caring and firm and sometimes even scary. She never cried. Reaching up, Jace grabbed the ledge wanting nothing more than to get as far away from that window as possible. His heart was racing. She didn't cry. She didn't. Coming up to another open window, Jace peeked in, saw that it was empty, and quickly swung himself inside. He was covered in sweat from his climb, and he wiped an arm across his face. Striding to the door, he opened it slowly and peeked out into the hall. It was silent, but he still waited just to be on the safe side. When no one passed, he finally stepped out into the hall and quickly made his way to Isabelle's room three doors down.

When he got there, he found her door open slightly and began to step through when he saw Alec hit the floor and roll onto his back. He quickly stepped back out of sight. "What should we do with him, Maxwell?" Jace heard Isabelle ask. "Leave him tied up here for the parents to find?"

So Alec wasn't joking about how angry Izzy and Max were at him. Good. The ass. How dare he make them all think he had sided with that horrible woman, he thought for what must have been the hundredth time. But then he wondered if it was that, or if it was the ease at which Alec had lied in the first place that was bothering him. The Fearless rune really was something. When he peeked back around the door, he saw Alec standing now with a knife in his hand and Izzy cocking back her fist like she was going to hit him, a sliced whip hissing around her. Jace laughed—he couldn't help it—before stepping completely through the door. "All right," he said to the shocked faces of Max and Isabelle, who still had her hand suspended in the air. "I think you've tortured him enough. I'm here."

"Jace!" Isabelle cried out then, and Jace grinned.

"The same," he said before turning and shutting the door behind him. "No need for the two of you to fight—" Max barreled into him, crying out his name. He managed to keep from yelping in pain, but he couldn't stop his face from showing it. "Careful there," he said softly, his heart constricting as he gave the boy a quick hug. He didn't realize how much he had missed him until now. Gently untangling himself from Max, he smiled down at him. "I'm not in the best shape right now." That was putting it mildly.

"I can see that," Isabelle said with narrowed eyes, her gaze raking him over before coming to rest on his charred wrists. He could only imagine how he looked to her. Still covered in the ichor from Raums, sleep deprived, and sweaty from his climb. "Did the Inquisitor hurt you?"

Jace bit the inside of his cheek, meeting Alec's eyes. If she knew even half of what the Inquisitor had done—no, it's better she didn't. At least not with Max nearby. "Not too badly," said Jace with a noncommittal shrug. "She just locked me up in the weapons gallery. Alec helped me get out."

Isabelle spun on her brother. "Alec, is that true?"

Alec, however, stared at his sister like he had about a hundred different retorts to say, but in the end he only said, "Yes." At least Jace thought that was all he was going to say. It should have been all he said. But then Alec popped off with, "So there," and Jace shook his head.

Isabelle frowned. "Well you should have said!"

Alec raised a brow. "And you should have some faith in me—"

"Enough," Jace said suddenly as unexpected guilt flooded him. Listening to them, he couldn't help but to think of the argument he had heard between Maryse and Robert. He didn't want to be the reason these two fought as well. But when they both looked at him, he knew that he couldn't very well tell them that. He could never tell them what he had heard. "There's no time for bickering," he said, instead focusing on the task at hand. "Isabelle, what kind of weapons do you have in here? And bandages. Any bandages?"

"Bandages?" She asked, setting her broken whip down and pulling open her cluttered nightstand where she pulled out her stele. "I can fix you up with an _iratze—_"

But Jace was already shaking his head. "An _iratze_ would be good for my bruises, but it won't help these." He lifted his hands to show her his wrists fully. They were still bleeding and now there was a clear liquid oozing, as well. He was sure that that was probably a bad thing. "These are rune burns." Seeing the look of horror on Izzy's face, he lowered his hands. He guessed she must have thought they were something else. An easy fix. And then her eyes flashed, and Jace was sure that she was starting to understand what he hadn't told her about the Inquisitor hurting him. He sighed. "And I'll need some weapons, too, before I—"

"Bandages first." Isabelle cut him off, drawing her shoulders back. She looked pissed all over again. "Weapons later."

Walking to him, his sister took him by the arm and spun him toward the door. In doing so, he saw Max watching him with wide eyes and a grin. The boy gave him a reassuring thumbs up just before Jace was shepherd into the bathroom. He smiled to himself. Max was an innocent and easily influenced, and yet he kept his faith in Jace. Damn, he loved that kid. And then he winced as Isabelle flipped on the bathroom light, the florescent bulbs burning his eyes. He cast an irritated glance at her before catching his reflection in the mirror. Not much had changed since the last time he had seen himself in the mirrors of the training room, except the sweat that had his white shirt plastered to him beneath his jacket. He could see the lean cut of his muscles under it. Shaking his head, he turned his back to his reflection and leaned casually against the counter, relieved to not have to be looking at himself. Instead he focused on Iz, who had tied her raven hair back and was now pulling out a basket of first-aid supplies. Taking one of his hands, she pushed up the sleeve of his jacket and then turned it gently before going to work on cleaning his wrist and wrapping it. As she moved on to the second one, Jace looked up and saw Alec watching from the doorway. He gave him a reassuring smile—_Ouch! _He winced and nearly jerked his arm away as the disinfectant stung his open and cracked areas.

"Don't be such a baby," she muttered almost inaudibly under her breath. Jace was offended. _I am not a baby—Ouch! Seriously woman! _He flinched again and saw the smirk on her face as she moved on to wrapping his wrist. When she was finished, she took a step back. "Okay, now take your shirt off."

Jace eye'd her suspiciously before shaking his head. "I knew there was something in this for you," he teased, shrugging out of his jacket—_carefully!_ _For the love of the Angel, go slowly. _His muscles throbbed and protested as he pulled the torn and bloodied shirt over his head. Funny, they hadn't seemed to hurt as much when he was scaling the walls outside. _Go figure_. Setting the jacket and shirt on the counter, he turned his exposed and bruised chest back to his sister. Isabelle was all business as she reached forward and traced her fingers across his shoulders, down his chest, and along his Marks. Her fingers were warm against his skin, and her eyes critical as she searched for any other scratches that needed attention. Jace sighed, wishing she would hurry up. There was a lot to be done now that he knew the Inquisitor was above listening to any and all reason. He would need to get out of here before she found him missing, too—which she may have already done.

"So what really happened?" Isabelle asked quietly, not looking up as she applied ointment to his side. "What did she do to you?"

Jace sighed, and looked up to see where Max was. He found him sitting on Izzy's bed, watching them, so he made sure to talk low. "Binding rune—" he began to explain, but his sister's eyes were already flashing up disbelievingly to him.

"Binding runes don't do _that,_" she said, indicating his wrists.

Jace laughed dryly. "They do when they're left on too long. She refused to remove them. Must have had them on a few hours before Alec helped me get them off."

Isabelle's cheeks darkened, but all she said was, "Hag." Standing up straight, she grabbed him by the arm and turned him, checking his back now. "So what else?" she asked. Jace sighed and began to quickly relay everything that happened from the moment she ran out of Luke's house, to the Malachi Configuration. He didn't think now was the time to mention the Inquisitor's shitty idea to trade him though. Not with Max so close. Looking up, he saw Alec was still there watching anxiously. He supposed he would have to call Clary now. There was just way too much to text. His heart began to pound as he met his brother's eyes. "Alec, can you get the phone?"

"It's on the dresser," Isabelle added absently, and then in a softer tone, "I'm going to place a _iratze _on your back." Jace nodded and braced for the sting of the stele. Luckily, it was nothing compared to the burning in his wrists. A second later, Alec called out.

"It's _not _on the dresser."

_"__Shit," _Izzy hissed irritably, finishing the Healing rune. And then she was silent for a moment. Jace raised a brow just as her eyes widened. "Oh hell," she said, turning to Alec who was back in the doorway. "I left my phone in the kitchen. Crap. I don't want to go looking for it in case the Inquisitor's around." From the inflection in her tone, Jace got the feeling that this wasn't because she was scared of what the Inquisitor might do to her, but the other way around. Before he could come up with a solution though, Max popped up next to Alec.

"I'll get it," he offered. "She doesn't care about me. I'm too young." Isabelle and Jace exchanged looks, knowing that he had obviously misunderstood the meaning in his sister's tone. Jace cocked his head, looking at the young Lightwood. His glasses were askew like they always were, his dark hair hanging in his eyes. But he looked eager. Isabelle bit her lip.

"I suppose," she said hesitantly, obviously not thrilled at the idea of sending her little brother out there. Jace couldn't blame her. He didn't like it either. "What do you need the phone for, Alec?" she asked.

"We just need it," Alec said irritably, catching Jace's eyes. "Izzy—"

But Iz was already taking a step forward, her eyes narrowed and her hands on her hips. "If you're texting Magnus to say _'I think u r kewl,'_ I'm going to kill you."

At this, Max's brows furrowed. "Who's Magnus?"

"He's a warlock," Alec answered, his tone void of emotion.

"A sexy, sexy warlock," Izzy cut in with a wicked grin. But Jace was looking at Alec, who looked absolutely livid as he glared at his sister. And then when he caught Jace looking at him and his cheeks turned a deep crimson. He was about to say something, come to Alec's rescue, when he realized that Izzy didn't know about the whole Alec-Magnus debacle. She hadn't been at Luke's when it all happened, and so he doubted his brother had had time to tell her; what with her being so pissed off at him. So if he said something now—_oh, fuck that._ That would just mean a shit ton more question's that he _really _didn't want to answer. Unfortunately Max was not so quick to let it go.

"But warlocks are bad," he insisted, as if everyone in the room should already be aware of this. Jace smiled as Alec turned even redder.

"Exactly," Izzy said reaching forward and bopping his nose with her finger.

Max crinkled his face irritably. "I don't understand—" _Nope, kid. You really, really don't. _"—But I'm going to get the phone. I'll be right back." With that, the young Lightwood darted out of the room. Jace watched him go. Once Max was gone, Jace plucked up his ragged shirt and put it back on—which went much smoother than when he had taken it off. By the Angel, he loved _iratze's._ Pulling his jacket on, he zipped it about halfway up before heading back into Isabelle's room. Looking around his sisters room, he frowned. He knew that Isabelle was messy, but right now it would _really_ help if she wasn't. He sighed and set to work digging through her clothes and whatever else—_what the hell is that? _He looked at the object curiously. _You know what? I don't want to know, _he thought as he remembered the last time he had gotten curious about something. He still hadn't gotten over the K-Y. He tossed the object over his shoulder. Behind him, Isabelle huffed.

"What's the plan now?" she asked, dodging a skirt Jace tossed aside next. "Are we all leaving? The Inquisitors going to freak when she finds out you're not there anymore."

Jace shook his head, snorting. "Not as much as she'll freak when Valentine turns her down." _And he will turn her down._ When he caught his sisters confused stare, he sighed. Now that Max was gone, he guessed he didn't have an excuse to keep the truth away from her. "She plans to trade me to my Valentine," he said tonelessly, returning to his search. "She thinks that because he's my father, or that because I'm his son, he will be more than willing to trade me for the Mortal Instruments." Moving aside a pile of clothes, a gleam of metal caught his eyes and he made a grab for what turned out to be an Angel blade. Tossing it on his sister's bed, he met Isabelle's gaze with detachment. "The only problem is, he'll never go for it."

"The—the _only problem?" _Isabelle screeched furiously. She was pacing now and tugging on her hair—something Jace knew she only did when she was truly pissed but had no one to take it out on. And he didn't think he had ever heard her stutter before. But really, it wasn't a bad plan on the Inquisitor's part. Smart even—if she was dealing with someone who wasn't Valentine. But he knew his father. And he'd sooner trade the Mortal Instruments for couple seraph blades and a new hat than he would for his own son. Isabelle didn't seem to see it from that perspective however as she kicked angrily at a boot and sent it flying toward Alec, who ducked it smoothly without so much as a raised brow. "She can't do that! She can't just trade you away to a psychopath! You're a member of the Clave! You're our _brother!"_

Jace shrugged and pushed aside another lump of clothes and debris, unearthing a couple more seraph blades. He added those to the one already on Isabelle's bed as he tried hard not to show how much her words meant to him. Not because he didn't want her to know, but because he knew—when it came to his punishment, it didn't matter. "The Inquisitor doesn't think so."

Isabelle's eyes narrowed as her hands found her hips. "I don't care what she thinks," she said cooly. "She's a hideous bitch and she has _got _to be stopped."

Jace smirked with amusement. _Yes, so do people who wear white after Labor Day, but there are just some battles that you aren't going to win. _Moving a towel and finding nothing, he stood up and looked at Izzy. "Once she finds out her plan is seriously flawed, she might be able to be talked down," he considered reasonably. "But I'm not sticking around to find out." Getting closer to his sisters bed, he began to pick around the stuff strewn there—_Seriously, how many magazines did one girl need?_ "I'm getting out of here."

"It's not going to be easy," Alec said, coming over to help Jace wade through Izzy's mess. "The Inquisitor's got this place locked up tighter than a pentagram. You know there are guards downstairs? She's called in half the Conclave."

"She must think highly of me," he said flattered, before turning back to the ridiculous pile of magazines. The Inquisitor had kept him locked in something that should have been unescapable. The fact that she still brought in reinforcements meant that she must have known he'd be amazing enough to get out anyway.

"Maybe she's not wrong," Isabelle mused from behind him just as he tossed her pile of magazines across the room. He looked at her with a brow raised. Since when did she agree with his self congratulatory nature? But she was only staring at him thoughtfully. "Did you seriously jump thirty feet out of a Malachi Configuration?" She cast her eyes past him to her brother. "Did he, Alec?"

"He did," Alec nodded, coming up with another small blade in his hands and depositing it to the small arsenal growing on the bed. "I've never seen anything like it."

Jace suddenly felt uncomfortable, and he cast his gaze down to the floor again and at the gleaming tip of silver dagger that had been hidden under the stack of Cosmo's. Usually he loved when they talked about him in awe—when they recounted his many achievements and mentioned his stellar performances. But this time was different. What he could do, wasn't because of anything he, himself, had done. It was because his father had made him what he was. Deciding to change the subject, he plucked up the knife, bringing up a hot pink lace bra with it. Jace raised a brow looking at it. "I've never seen anything like _this." _

Darting her hand forward, Izzy yanked her bra off the ten-inch dagger. "That's not the point," she snapped. "How did you _do _it? Do you know?"

Jace stared at the knife before setting it next to the seraph blades. _How did I do it? _"I jumped," he said dryly. Dropping to his knees, he began searching under her bed, avoiding the stares of both of them now. He knew that eventually they were going to be less concerned with the_ how _he did it, and more concerned with _why _he was able to do it_. _And he wanted to avoid that as long as possible. He didn't even know the answer to that question, himself. He just knew that it involved Valentine treating him and Clary both like experiments. Pushing aside another stack of magazines—_Glamour _and _Allure—_his hand closed around a razor sharp disk. Pulling it out, he looked at the dust and fur covered weapon. "_Chakhrams. _Cool." He blew the cat hair off of it. "Especially if I meet any demons with serious dander allergies."

Snapping her hand forward, Isabelle hit him across the back with her bra, much the same way she would have used her electrum whip. "You're not answering me!"

Jace sighed and jumped to his feet, ducking out of the way of another bra lashing. "Because I don't know, Izzy," he said truthfully, tossing the _chakhram _on the bed. He had no idea how he did what he did, because he had no idea what Valentine had done to him. Jace shook his head, not wanting to think of his father. But he also knew that Isabelle wasn't about to let him leave it there. She would keep pressing. He sighed. "Maybe the Seelie Queen was right. Maybe I have powers I don't even know because I've never tested them. Clary certainly does." His stomach flipped at the mention of her name, and it was apparent that it had also caught Izzy off guard.

"She does?"

Jace was just about to answer—to tell her about the Fearless rune that Clary had created when Alec gasped his name suddenly. His adrenaline spiking, he looked to his brother expecting that maybe something had happened or that someone was coming. But Alec was just staring at him wide eyed. "Is that vampire cycle of yours still on the roof?"

Jace's brows furrowed. If his brother could not scare the shit out of him by sounding like something was wrong, that'd be great. "Possibly," he said when his heart slowed. "But it's daylight, so it's not much use."

"Besides," Isabelle cut in, "we can't all fit on it."

"It doesn't matter." Jace stared around her room, deciding on whether he was going to keep searching. He was also trying to decide how best to break the news to Iz without her flipping out on him. Her coming with him was not an option, for many reasons. He scrunched his face decisively. No, he didn't think he was going to keep looking. While he was enjoying this treasure hunt, and all—he really wasn't. His eyes fell on the weapons he had managed to find so far. There were quite a bit. Without a word to his sister, he began to shove the Angel blades into his pocket, before attaching the ten-inch blade and _chakhram_ to his belt. Finally he looked at his sister. There _was_ no best way to tell her this, so he just needed to spit it out. "You're not coming with me."

Isabelle's eyes flashed. "What do you mean—" And then he was spared her tirade as Max darted back into the room, pink and out of breath. In his hand was a hot pink phone that matched the bra Izzy was still holding. Seeming to realize this as well, his sister dropped the brazier to the floor before snatching the phone from her younger brother. "Max, you're a hero." And then her angry eyes flashed back to Jace, making it clear that the compliment was not extended to him. "I'll get back to you in a minute," she snapped. _I'm sure you will. _"Meanwhile, who are we calling? Clary?" She held the phone out to him.

Jace's pulse raced at the casual mention of her name. He couldn't call her. Isabelle's brow raised when he still didn't take the phone. But he couldn't—he just . . . he looked at Alec. His _parabatai,_ who had been watching them both silently, stepped forward in that moment, as if he understood exactly what Jace was worried about. Dear God, he really hoped not. Holding out his hand, Alec looked at Iz. "I'll call her—"

But Isabelle was already batting his hand away. "No," she said, throwing one last exasperated glance at Jace before bringing her phone back toward her and searching through her contacts. To his relief, she didn't comment on the fact that he had not taken the phone from her. Instead she looked at Alec as she pressed the phone to her ear. "She likes me better," she said, sticking her tongue out at him, and Jace smiled. This—was probably true. There was a moment of silence and then Izzy smiled. "Clary? It's Isabelle. I—_What?"_ Jace's heart constricted as Isabelle's wide frantic eyes found him. _What happened. Was she okay? Was it the Inquisitor? Had she gone after Clary, too? Or maybe Valentine—_Scenario after scenario ran mercilessly through his head. Iz blanched. "How is that possible? But why—?"

She made to turn away as if for privacy, but in less than a second, Jace had moved to stand in front of her. "How is _what _possible?" He asked, and Isabelle cast disbelieving eyes to him and shook her head. Frustrated and nervous, he took her by the arm, forcing her attention "Isabelle, what's happened? Is Clary—"

She lowered the phone slowly, her body rigid. "It's Valentine." She said, her voice haunted. "He's taken Simon and Maia. He's going to use them to perform the Ritual."

_Son of a bitch! _With speed he doubted Isabelle saw coming, his hand sprung forward and relieved her of her phone. His heart was racing, his stomach flipping, as he pressed the phone to his ear. His tone, he was relieved to find, was normal. "Drive to the Institute," he instructed quickly. "Don't come in—" His heart leapt into his throat as he heard Clary's intake of breath. "Wait for me—"

"Jace—"

"I'll meet you outside." He hung up on her. He wasn't sure why he was acting like this toward her. It wasn't like the Inquisitor was around and able to analyze their nonexistent-existent relationship—_Oh yeah, that's why_, Jace thought dryly as he handed the phone silently to Alec. _He _wasn't even sure what they're relationship was. Not that it mattered. She thought he ruined everything. "Call Magnus," he instructed, his tone void of emotion as his brother took the phone. "Tell him to meet us down by the waterfront in Brooklyn. He can pick the place, but it should be somewhere deserted. We're going to need his help getting to Valentine's ship."

"We?" Isabelle inquired.

Jace sighed, looking at his sister. "Magnus, Luke, and myself," he said firmly. "You two are staying here and dealing with the Inquisitor for me. When Valentine doesn't come through with his part of her deal, you're the ones who are going to have to convince her to send all the backup the Conclave has got for Valentine." Jace turned and saw Max staring up at him. He had almost forgotten the boy was here. He tried smiling, but it felt fake. It _was_ fake.

"I don't get it," Alec said suddenly. "How do you plan to get out of here in the first place?"

At this, Jace grinned and crossed to Isabelle's open window. Before, he had told himself he hadn't wanted to tell Alec because his brother would flip out. Now, he knew that it had also been because he hadn't been completely sure of himself. Now that he knew he could climb a building with ease, he had no problem showing them both. "Watch," he said, jumping up onto the windowsill as Izzy cried out behind him. Turning, he met her wide fearful eyes before looking at Alec, who looked nervous but said nothing. His _parabatai_ wasn't expecting an explanation. Jace knew this. He only nodded, knowing that he was leaving. Jace gave one last grin before swinging himself out the window and, catching the ledge above him, began to climb. He didn't look back.

Knowing he could do it this time, made it easier. It seemed like it was only seconds before he was pulling himself over the ledge and onto the Institute's roof. He turned, out of breath from the exertion, as he took in the New York skyline. Out of all the places he could have ended up, he's glad it was here. He loved New York. Even with everything that had happened to him—he would always love it here. Lowering his gaze to the road, his Sight rune kicked in and he saw that near the front entrance stood two of the Conclave—Malik and a silver haired woman he didn't know. Definitely best he stayed out of sight. And then he was scanning the street for Luke's truck, hoping Clary had listened and wouldn't park too close. But they weren't here yet. Good. He needed to prepare himself for seeing her.

It had only been a few hours since he was whisked away from her like a criminal, but things had been so tense between them. He refused to deny how he felt, and she thought he ruined everything. He also thought she was being stubborn. He knew that she also had feelings for him that went beyond what a brother and sister _should_ feel for one another—she had already said as much, but . . . Jace shook his head and crossed the roof absently. He knew that her having feelings for him, or him for her, shouldn't be a good thing. He, better than anyone, knew how wrong it was. But seriously!How many times did he have to tell her that he couldn't help it? That he couldn't stop it. That he wanted to, but he just _couldn't! _He would love her forever. And when she moved on and finally fell in love with someone else, he would love her still. _And it wasn't fair! _Turning, he began kicking the wall of the roof access with uncontrollable rage. _It was Valentine's fault! _He kept kicking. _Jocelyn's fault!_ His frustration, anger, and grief rampant with each thrust of his steel toed boot, and each gratifying crack of the stone. Tired, sweaty, and out of breath, he turned and slumped against the wall, sliding to the warm ground. He laid his head back, closing his eyes and waited for his chest to stop heaving. Biting the inside of his cheek, he saw Clary's emerald eyes and fiery curls. He could feel the softness of her skin, and see the adorable way she tugged on her hair. She was struggling too, he realized. She was just as much a victim. Maybe he needed to stop being so hard on her. _But, fuck!_ He pushed his palms into his eyes and tried to think of something else. He knew that it would take them some time to get here, but he wished they would hurry up. Jace looked around absently, picking up a nearby tarp and twisting it in his hands. He wondered if Clary possibly— "What the—?" He looked down at the tarp. "Oh, no . . ." _She had better not have, _he thought as he scrambled to his feet and rounded the roof access. He skidded to a halt, anger flooding him. _"That fucking bitch!"_

His bike was gone.

He wanted to scream. He bit he inside of his cheek instead, tasting blood in his mouth. Walking forward, he rounded the corner. He didn't see any ash on the ground, suggesting it was destroyed, but he wouldn't put it past the psycho Inquisitor to do that. Rubbing at his temples, he decided it would be best to go back and keep a watch for Luke's truck instead of focusing on anything else that was running through his head. It was going to make him go crazy. As he turned his head to look back up the street for what must have been the tenth time, he saw it—Luke's truck parked at the curb—and his adrenaline spiked. He didn't stop to think as he took off in their direction, skirting chimneys, pipes, bricks. He willed himself to go faster as he darted behind statues and across overhangs. He stopped at the edge and looked down the steep roof that led to yet another roof. But that one was closer to the ground. He hesitated only a moment, before stepping over the side, crouching low, as he half guided himself and half slid out of control, down the steep slope of the roof. Years and years of rain and sun and birds shitting, had made the rooftop slicker than he would have liked, but he still managed to keep himself from tumbling horribly. He knew that one wrong move, and he would be riding the worlds worst slip-n-slide. Finally reaching the bottom, he moved quickly to the edge—and froze.

Clary was running across the street toward him, her curls bouncing wildly around her. Behind her, Jace could see the passenger door of the truck hanging open. Luke was halfway out of his own door, his eyes on Clary's retreating form. With the perk of his Sight rune, he was able to see the distress on his face. He could also see the worry on Clary's. She was scared for him. Jace sighed as she came to a stop at the base of the building, looking up at him. She could have waited in the truck. But he also had to admit to himself that he liked the fact that she was worried about him. She didn't often show emotion toward him anymore—other than anger. So when she did, it was precious to him. With that in mind, he stepped off the roof. Like before, time slowed down as he fell. He was a lot higher than he had been when in the rafters of the weapons gallery, but it didn't seem to matter. The fall was just as quick and just as easy. The only part that sucked was hearing her scream as he fell. He liked her being worried about him, but he didn't ever want to hear her scream in fear. Landing in a light crouch in front of Clary, he sprung lithely to his feet and—_by the Angel she was beautiful. _Even with her mouth hanging open.

Jace grinned. "If I made a joke about dropping in, would you write me off as cliche?"

"How—" she looked up at the rooftop. "How did you—" She looked back at Jace. "How did you _do that?"_

But before he could answer, her eyes were moving past him; and then she whirled around, her back bumping into his chest. He didn't have time to react to this, however, as his saw what she was looking at.

"Crap," he breathed. The two guards, Malik and the silver haired woman, were running toward them. They must have heard the scream. Clary took a step back, pressing firmly into him now, and he reached forward and took her hand before turning to run. She came without resistance or hesitation. _Shit, shit, shit. _As they approached Luke's truck, Jace saw that he was already back behind the steering wheel. Luckily, Clary had left the passenger door open in her haste to get to him, and within seconds, he was diving into the truck and pulling her in behind him. Luke didn't wait. The truck lurched and squealed as he gunned it without waiting for the door to get shut. Clary, who was pressed into Jace, didn't move to reach for it either. Biting the inside of his cheek, Jace's adrenaline shot through the roof as he leaned across her lap and, catching ahold of the handle, managed to slam the passenger door shut. A second later, he was thrown back against Luke as the truck swerved around someone. Turning and peering out the window, he saw that it was Malik. The Large Shadowhunter had a wicked looking dagger in his hand—_not good_—and looked like he was aiming for a tire. Pushing off of Luke, Jace began to scramble for his jacket pocket hastily trying to get to a seraph blade, but by the time he pulled it out the truck was already rounding a corner unscathed.

Jace stared out the back window, but the two Shadowhunters had already disappeared. It had been a close call. He turned to look at Clary, whose eyes were wide and scared. Reaching forward, he couldn't stop himself from tucking a strand of her hair back. "Are you okay?" he whispered, knowing full well that all the whispering in the world wasn't going to stop Luke from hearing him. Clary nodded, her eyes still wide. Slowly, he traced his finger down her cheek, his heart jackhammering. "Good," he breathed, relieved. She blushed but didn't pull away. Sitting forward, Jace laid his head back and closed his eyes. Escape from prison? Check. Escape from the Institute? Check. Go to the docks, somehow get on his father's boat, defeat him and his impossible Fear demon without dying . . .? Yep. Piece of cake.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: <strong>Please Review! Also, I want to ask a question. Back when I was writing City of the Unknown (and even many parts of City of Heartache), there were a LOT of times that I would go back and delete stuff because it didn't fit or because I decided to go a different direction after all. It wasn't until I was PM'd and asked about those things that I deleted, that I started to think about it (yeah, you know who you are). I was told that maybe I should start saving the parts that didn't make the cut. That maybe I could use them later, or at least post them as "outtakes." And so I have been. I believe since Chapter 10 of City of Heartache, anything that didn't make the cut, I have saved. My question . . . would you guys be interested in reading it? If so, let me know!_


	17. Fearless

**~Chapter Sixteen~**  
><strong>Fearless<strong>

Jace sat back in the seat, his breathing heavy. He felt exhausted after everything that had happened, and he wasn't even close to being finished with it all yet. On one side of him, he could feel Luke's arms moving with each turn of the steering wheel. On the other side of him . . . he felt nothing. Clary must have been being careful not to move. Or at least trying really hard not to touch him, Jace thought both with irritation and sadness. He sighed at the same moment he felt Clary shift.

"How did you do that?" Clary said suddenly, her tone sharp. Jace peeked at her from under one of his lids that had started to droop shut. _How did I do what? Be amazing and handsome and wonderful and so spectacularly color coordinated? Its not often one can make bandages and blood so fashionable_ . . . She was staring at him, her Idris eyes angry, awed, and concerned. By the Angel, she was beautiful. He would have smiled if it weren't for the fact that he knew he shouldn't. He shouldn't think her beautiful. Instead he let his eye close again, his mind turning over the days events. Somehow he doubted she was asking about his color coordination skills.

"You mean how did I get onto the roof?" He asked, his head dropping back against the rear window. He knew that wasn't what she meant either, but it was as good of a place to start as any. "First I climbed out of Isabelle's window and up the wall. There are a number of ornamental gargoyles that make good handholds. Also," he added irritably, "I would like to note, for the record, that my motorcycle is no longer where I left it. I bet the Inquisitor took it on a joyride around Hoboken." _The toad._ She had better not damage it. One scratch—one!—and he'd definitely be filing a complaint with the Clave! Jace heard Luke snicker but he said nothing.

Clary sighed overloud. "I _meant_," _I know what you meant._ "how did you jump off the cathedral roof and not die?"

Jace turned his head to look at Clary, his heart racing as it always did. He had heard the slight painful catch in her throat as she spoke, and could see it now in her emerald eyes. The idea of him causing her pain or worry or anything else . . . _shit. _He hated this power she had over him, but he would not have it any other way at the same time. _Well that's not completely true, is it? _he asked himself. He would have a lot of things different. Like the whole brother and sister thing_ . . . _sighing, he pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes causing bursts of white to spread behind his eyelids. The truth then. "I don't know." Dropping his hands to his lap, he looked at her. "How did you create that rune?"

At this, she faltered and looked down at her own hands, her hair falling over her shoulders and hiding her face as she did. "I don't know either," she breathed, and Jace had to lace his fingers to keep himself from reaching out and tucking her curls back to see her better. Luckily, he didn't need to, as a second later her Idris eyes found his golden ones. "The Seelie Queen was right, wasn't she? Valentine he—" her voice filled with anger and disgust upon saying his name and her eyes slid past Jace to Luke, "—he did things to us. Didn't he?"

Jace looked at Luke as well—his father's _parabatai—_but he was busy watching the road, which he guessed was a good thing . . . not crashing and all. He'd be pissed if he survived all that, plus jumping off the Institute's roof, only to die in a truck during his daring escape. _Oh, but what irony it would be at the same time. _It wasn't until after Luke turned left that he spoke, pushing up his glasses in the process. "This isn't the time to talk about that." He met Jace's eyes briefly, and he saw in them the fear of the truth in Clary's question. It sent a cold chill running through him. Just what _had _their dear old dad done to them? "Jace," Luke spoke again after a moment. "Did you have a particular destination in mind or did you just want to get away from the Institute?"

_Both. _Jace swallowed and looked down at his bandaged wrists that peeked out from under the sleeves of his jacket. The stinging from the runes that had shackled him had gone down, but he could still see the fiery red of his skin that ringed the edges. What he needed to do was stop his father . . . to make up for ruining everything. He drew his shoulders back. He supposed he was going to have to tell Luke this part of his plan sooner or later. "Valentine's taken Maia and Simon to the boat to perform the Ritual. He'll want to do it as soon as possible." A sharp pain shot across his wrist, and he adjusted the bandage. "I've got to get there and stop him."

"No."

Jace bristled at the sharpness and finality of Luke's tone. _No? No?! Don't you understand . . . I have to do this! I have to . . . for Clary—_his heart somersaulted and he avoided looking at her—_for Alec, for Izzy, for you . . . I have to! _He switched tactics. "Okay, _we_ have to get there and stop him."

"Jace . . ." _Oh, I know that tone, _he thought irritably as Luke continued. "I'm not letting you go back to the ship. It's too dangerous."

Jace sat up straight now, staring at the wolf with a cocked brow. Was he seriously concerned? _I just jumped off a fucking roof!_ "You saw what I just did!" he reminded him pointedly as he gestured out the back window. "And you're worried about me?"

"I'm worried about you."

Jace bit down on his cheek to keep his face from twisting as a longing so deep and agonizing spread through him. Jerking his head, trying desperately to rid himself of the painful emotion and only half succeeding, he said, "There's no time for that." and he wasn't sure if he was saying it to himself or to Luke. He took a breath. "After my father kills your friends, he'll call on an army of demons you can't even imagine." W_hich is a bit more pressing, don't you think?_ "After that, he'll be unstoppable." He blanched as he remembered standing on his fathers ship deck and seeing the demons . . . swirling, writhing, waiting.

But Luke wasn't convinced. "Then the Clave—"

"The Inquisitor wont do anything." Jace cut him off. What part of that wasn't he getting? "She's blocked the Lightwoods' access to the Clave. She wouldn't call for reinforcements, even when I told her what Valentine has planned. She's obsessed with this insane plan she has." S_tupid, horrible, bat shit crazy, broad. _Maybe he wouldn't be too upset if she _did_ wreck his bike, so long as she was on it at the time—

"What plan?"

Jace's head involuntarily snapped to Clary. It always would. But even looking at her now wasn't enough to stem the anger and disgust he felt in this moment. "She wanted to trade me to my father for the Mortal Instruments," he spit vehemently and he saw her face tighten and her eyes narrowing. "I told her Valentine would never go for it, but she didn't believe me." _Because why would she believe Valentine's son? Oh because I'm not a parent . . . I don't understand how parental love works, I am too stupid to know the depths of a parent's love, blah blah blah . . . _He let out a short hollow laugh at the mimicking tone his thoughts had taken. _Valentine isn't a parent either, lady. And he sure the fuck didn't have any love in him . . . _Not that she was smart enough to realize that. "Isabelle and Alec are going to tell her what happened with Simon and Maia," he continued, his tone flatter now. "I'm not optimistic, though. She doesn't believe me about Valentine and she's not going to upset her precious plan just to save a couple of Downworlders."

Clary's usually full lips were thin as she stared at Jace, her eyes blazing with emerald fires. She was pissed and he had to admit that he loved seeing it. She nodded slightly then as if deciding something for herself. "We can't just wait to hear from them, anyway." And then she looked at Luke. "We have to get to the boat now. If you can take us to it—"

"I hate to break it to you," Luke cut her off, his thumb drumming against the wheel. A nervous tick, perhaps? "But we need a boat to get to another boat. I'm not sure even Jace can walk on water."

_Huh, not a bad idea, _Jace thought. _Worth a try at least—test out what all I'm truly capable of. _And then he looked at Luke, feeling slightly offended that he just assumed it wasn't possible in the first place. _Rude. _In fact, he was just about to tell him so when he felt the vibration of Clary's cell in the pocket that was pressed against his leg. She shifted as she tried to get her phone out, inadvertently pressing harder against him in the process. Jace bit down on his cheek, reveling in the feel of her touch—even if it wasn't on purpose—and knowing that he shouldn't . . . but also doing nothing to move out of the way and make it easier for her. With a final tug (and a final flight of butterflies as she shifted against him one last time), Clary freed her phone and looked at it.

"It's an address," she said with a frown. "Down by the waterfront."

Jace leaned into her slightly in order to peer over her shoulder at the text. He knew as he did it that he didn't really have to lean into her. She was actually short enough that he probably could have seen it without actually requiring much movement at all, but . . . _but what? You're a glutton for punishment? _He could smell the Lavender in her hair. _Yes. Yes I am. _Biting the inside of his cheek, he focused even harder on the text. "That's where we have to go to meet Magnus," he said before reading the address out loud—_Son of a bitch! _Jace threw his hand on the dash as he slid firmly against Clary, inadvertently squishing her against the door as Luke jerked the wheel around irritably to make a U-turn. Clary said nothing, but their eyes met as Jace pushed himself off her and back into his own seat. Her cheeks flushed, sending Jace's adrenaline coursing, before she looked away. He swallowed hard. "Magnus will get us across the water." He was still flustered and hoped desperately that it didn't show. At least his voice sounded normal. "The ship is surrounded by protection wards. I got onto it the first time because my father wanted me to get on it. This time he wont. We'll need Magnus to deal with the wardings."

"I don't like this." Luke's voice was tight and his thumb was drumming against the steering wheel again. "I think I should go—" _Nope. _Jace started shaking his head, knowing where this was already going. "—and you two should stay with Magnus."

"No," Jace said out loud now, though really he only half disagreed. Clary _should_ stay. But that's because they didn't understand—they didn't know what kind of arsenal Valentine had at his disposal. _I do. _Plus, being a former Shadowhunter didn't make Luke one now. He couldn't bear the Marks anymore. _No . . . _"It has to be me who goes."

"Why?" Clary's voice was soft but demanding, and Jace looked at her. He could see the fear in her eyes . . . the worry written across her face. But it was because of that fear in her eyes that it had to be him. _And . . . because of the fear in my heart. Because I love you more than I have ever loved anything in my life, no matter how wrong it is. Because I don't care that you're my sister. And I would do anything to keep you safe, even if it meant giving my own life._

"Because Valentine's using a fear demon," he sighed, looking away. He knew he was going to have to tell her eventually, but . . ._ I can't—I wont—put you through that. _"That's how he was able to kill the Silent Brothers. It's what slaughtered that warlock, the werewolf in the alley outside the Hunter's Moon, and probably what killed that fey child in the park. And it's why the Brothers had those looks on their faces," he added as his stomach dropped sickeningly. "Those terrified looks." He remembered the fear he had felt in the demons presence and cast a sidelong glance at Clary. "They were literally scared to death."

Clary's mouth popped open, her lips forming a perfect "o". She shook her head. "But the blood—"

"He drained the blood later," Jace cut her off. "And in the alley he was interrupted by one of the lycanthropes. Thats why he didn't have enough time to get the blood he needed. And that's why he still needs Maia." _It's why I have to go, _Jace thought as he pushed his hair out of his face and looked at Clary. _And why I will need you're help._ "No one can stand up against a fear demon. "It gets in your head and destroys your mind."

"Agramon."

It wasn't a question, and Jace looked at Luke surprised. How did he know? Instead of denying it, however, he merely nodded. "Yeah, that's what Valentine called it."

Luke's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "He's not a fear demon," he said, his skin growing ashen. "He's _the_ fear demon. The Demon of Fear." And then he threw a glance at Jace. "How did Valentine get Agramon to do his bidding? Even a warlock would have trouble binding a Greater Demon, and _outside _the pentagram—" he cut himself off with a sharp intake of breath. "That's how the warlock child died, isn't it? Summoning Agramon?"

Jace nodded, impressed at Luke's ability to piece things together quickly—something he had been impressed by before. "Funny story," he said flatly, his tone holding neither laughter or mirth. In fact he felt sick thinking about it. "My father knew the warlock's fear—a demon escaping when summoned, and the fear demon—Agramon—"

"Feeds off fear," Luke finished bleakly. "Brings them to life."

"Yeah. He knew it would use the warlock's fear to escape, and the Mortal Cup . . . let's him control Agramon." Jace crossed his arms as he remembered the demon. Remembered the fear he had felt. Even now, his heart began to race. He was careful not to show this, and shrugged instead. "Apparently it gives you some power over demons. Not like the sword does, though."

"Now I'm even less inclined to let you go," said Luke, shaking his head. Jace bolted upright, but Luke was already shooting him down before he could utter a single argument. "It's a Greater Demon, Jace," he said pointedly. But Jace just rolled his eyes. _No shit._ "It would take this city's worth of Shadowhunters to deal with it."

Jace chewed on his cheek, shooting daggers at Luke. "I know it's a Greater Demon," he said with annoyed flatness. he looked at the old wolf. He had wanted to get Clary alone to talk to her about this, but he didn't think that was gonna happen anymore. Not if he was going to convince Luke. Jace took a breath. "But it's weapon is fear. If Clary can put the Fearless rune on me, I can take it down. Or at least try." And that was the thing. He had to try. He had to.

"No!" Clary's cry of protest was layered with a stack of emotions and Jace could feel her eyes on him. He closed his eyes in return, unable to meet them. This was why he had wanted to tell her alone. _Please Clary . . . _It was hard enough, even alone, to not grab her and comfort her when he knew she was scared or hurting, especially knowing how wrong it would be. Harder still when there were others around who knew as well. _Please. _But Clary was unrelenting. "I don't want your safety dependent on my stupid rune." And then he heard her voice drop, more terrified than before. "What if it doesn't work?"

_Then you wont have to worry about having a brother who's in love with you._

Jace bit down hard. He should not have thought that. It was selfish. But the thought persisted, and in all honesty, he couldn't say it would be the worse thing that happened. Suddenly he saw Clary clearly in his mind; her full lips, her ringlets cascading over her shoulders like a fiery waterfall, and her eyes, still as green as the hills of Idris—his home. No, his death would not be the worst thing by far. Losing Clary . . . that would be . . . he couldn't even think it. The Fearless rune had to work. In fact, "It worked before," he said, finishing the last part of his thought out-loud. And no one spoke. Jace could hear the tapping of Luke's thumb on the wheel next to him.

"What if I mess it up this time?"

Her voice was meek and filled with such anguish, that Jace couldn't have kept himself from looking at her now even if he wanted to. Her Idris eyes captured his, searching. _I have faith in you, _he wanted to tell her. _And I know you would never forgive yourself if you messed it up. _But how could he explain that her fear was the reason he knew she wouldn't mess up? Or the fact that he knew she loved him, even if it was only as brother. He couldn't. He couldn't tell her any oof this. Instead, all he could say was, "You won't."

She said nothing as she searched his face for answers. Jace felt Luke shift in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with whatever unspoken thoughts were going on next to him. Thankfully, he didn't comment on it. Jace didn't look away this time, meeting Clary's gaze with his own—willing her to hear his unspoken words. _I love you!_ He wanted to scream at her. _I shouldn't, but I do. And I'm scared, Clary. I'm so scared that I'm going to lose you because of how I feel. That I'm going to drive you away because you've moved on and I never will. _He bit the inside of his cheek as Clary turned her head away and stared at her lap. But Jace continued to look at her. _I love you Clary Fray. And one way or another . . . I will protect you. _Tearing his eyes away, he stared out the window, noting where they were. He could see the water as they rounded a small corner. It looked peaceful. Too peaceful considering what it was hiding. And his eyes fell to where he knew his fathers boat was hiding. His pulse began to race and his skin began to crawl. _Can you see me, father? Do you know we're coming for you?_

"Are you sure this is the right address?" Luke asked, breaking the silence and pulling Jace away from his thoughts as he slowed the truck to a stop. He was looking out of each of his windows. "Magnus isn't here."

"He'll come," Clary said confidently. She was also staring out the windows, looking in the direction of the financial district. "If he told Alec he was coming, he'll do it."

Luke shrugged in response and opened his truck door. Jace slipped out behind him, meeting the lycanthropes eyes briefly before turning and walking toward a large nearby rock. Stopping, he pulled off his jacket and laid it out on the rock. Slowly he unstrapped the seraph blades from his belt and set them carefully on top of his opened jacket. He followed this with the silver knife and the three chakram's he had harvested from Izzy's room. _It's not enough, _he realized as he stared at it. There was no way he could go up against Valentine, Agramon, or a horde of other demons with such few weapons . . . there was no way _any_ of them could! _Shit! _They were fucked! Jace raked his fingers roughly through his hair and spun to stare out at the lake. They weren't going to win. His heart pounded, sending panic flooding through his veins with each beat and searing pain shooting across his wrists. In one swift motion, he ripped off the bandages and chucked them on the ground, exposing his still raw skin.

What was he going to do? He was going to lose Clary. He was going to . . . _Think, Jace! _He would have to convince her to draw the Fearless rune. He would have to make her see how much he needed it. But even then . . . even if she did it . . . he still didn't think they could win—not without help. Frustrated, he stared out at the river and watched the sun shimmer across the waters surface and realized immediately what was missing—the water faeries. Did that mean that the Seelie Queen understood the threat of this area, and of Valentine? Jace walked down to the bank and kneeled down. It was worth a try, at least. Regardless of how annoying the fey could be . . . surely even they could see how important defeating Valentine was? It affected them just as much as the rest of them.

Pulling a small piece of parchment from his pocket, he stared at the message rune that was inked on it. He ran his finger over it lightly, the hidden rune on his thumb triggering it much like it triggered the weapons cache in churches. "This is Jace Way—" Closing his eyes, he bit down on his cheek angrily. That wasn't his last name and the Seelie Queen will be looking for honesty. Jace took a breath. "This is Jonathan Morgenstern. I am at the docks by the Waterfront and we're going to go after Valentine and the Mortal Instruments. We could use your help."

_Please._

He tossed the parchment in the river at the same moment he heard soft footsteps coming up behind him. "What are you doing?"

Getting to his feet, Jace's hair blew across his face as he looked at Clary—_what the hell is on your hands . . . Oven mitts?—_and Luke, who had himself zipped up in a flannel. Shrugging, he turned back toward the water. "Sending a message."

"A message to who?" Clary asked behind him at the same moment that a fey hand breached the surface, bringing with it a reply.

**_We'll See_**.

Jace stared, confused at first and then angry. _We'll see_ . . . _Really? We'll see—Fuck! Stupid, idiotic, asshat bunch of faeries! _He wanted to scream. _They better "see" real fucking quick,_ he thought angrily. Turning abruptly, he looked at Clary and said, "No one," before spinning on his heel and making his way back to their pathetic arsenal. He was in full Shadowhunter mode now. He had to be if he wanted to survive this—if he wanted Clary to survive this. Snatching up the chakram's, he put them hastily back on his belt, along with the silver knife. Casting a glance behind him, he met Clary's eyes briefly before raising his hand to beckon her and Luke both over. As they approached, he looked down at the angel blades, running his fingers softly along them. "I didn't have a chance to get to the armory," he stated, working hard to keep his tone flat. "So these are the weapons we have. I thought we might as well get as ready as we can before Magnus gets here." Meeting Luke's eyes, he could see by the set of the man-wolf's jaw, that he understood just how screwed they were. Well, at least he wasn't the only one.

Reaching down, Jace plucked up one of the knives and ran his palm along the vibrating blade. "_Abrariel_." He whispered, watching as it came to life. Reaching forward, he offered the hilt to Luke.

"I'm all right," Luke declined, lifting the the hem of his flannel jacket up to show Jace his _kindjal _that he had tucked into his belt. Nodding, Jace didn't hesitate as he turned instead to Clary and handed her the sword instead. She said nothing as her fingers wrapped tentatively around the hilt. He turned quickly back to the other two blade.

The second knife he named _Camael, _and the third one became _Telantes._ One by one, he slid both into his belt. "Do you ever use Raziel's name?" Clary asked as Jace reached for his jacket. He paused only briefly before snatching it up and putting it back on.

"Never," Luke answered when Jace didn't. "That's not done."

Before Clary could reply, her phone began to buzz in her pocket. Jace watched as she pulled it out, opened it, and handed it to him without even looking at the message. Raising a brow, he lowered his eyes to the text. It was from Izzy again. Scanning the message, he shook his head. He didn't know whether to be angry, disgusted or just plain amused. The old hag just doesn't listen. Feeling two sets of eyes on him, he looked up. "It looks like the Inquisitor gave Valentine until sunset to decide whether he wants me or the Mortal Instruments more." He gave an empty laugh as he returned to the text. "She and Maryse have been fighting for hours, so she hasn't noticed I'm gone yet."

Shaking his head, he held the phone out for Clary. As she reached for it, his fingers brushed the massive glove she wore and she flinched, pulling her hand back as if he had burned her. He stood their staring at her, his heart plummeting. He hadn't even touched her! Just her glove . . . and she had flinched like she was scared. Biting the inside of his cheek, he remembered how she had screamed at him about how he ruins everything. Perhaps he really had. She didn't seem the only one to think so, anyway. Clary, Maryse, the Inquisitor—and it wasn't even him she was actually mad at! He was just the one she was taking it out on. Punished for his fathers crimes. And now she was trying to trade him to his father, knowing what kind of man he is. And all because she has some kind of diluted idea that Valentine might actually care about him? He couldn't understand a parents love—that's what she had said to him. And he also remembered how angry she had gotten when he had mentioned Stephen's name. He spun on Luke. "Did the Inquisitor's son die? Is that why she's like this?" He could hear the anger and demand in his tone, but he didn't care.

Luke took a deep breath as he buried his hands in his pockets. "How did you figure that out?"

"The way she reacts when anyone says his name. Its the only time I've ever seen her show any human feelings." Jace said without hesitation.

Adjusting his glasses, Luke kicked a rock out from under him. "The Inquisitor is the way she is for many reasons. Stephen is only one of them.

Jace wasn't buying it. There had to be more than that. He wanted to know the truth. He wanted to know what his father—because make no mistake, he knew his father was involved somehow—had done to her. "It's weird," Jace pressed. "She doesn't even seem like someone who likes kids."

At this, Luke gave a slight smile. "Not other people's," he confirmed. "It was different with her own. Stephen was her golden boy. In fact, he was everyone's . . . everyone who knew him. He was one of those people who was good at everything, unfailingly nice without being boring, handsome without everyone hating him," and then Luke did smile. "Well, maybe we hated him a little.

"He went to school with you?" Clary asked, taking a step forward so that she was standing next to Jace—who pretended not to notice and failed miserably. "And my mother—and Valentine? Is that how you knew him?"

Luke looked between Clary and Jace, before sighing. "The Herondale's," he began, "were in charge of running the London institute, and Stephen went to school there. I saw him more after they graduated, when he moved back to Alicante. And there was a time when I saw him very often, indeed." He almost sounded sad now, and Jace knew that Luke was no longer seeing them, but some long ago memory. Blinking, Luke shook his head. "After he was married."

"So he was in the Circle?" asked Clary.

Luke shook his head again. "Not then. He joined the Circle after I—well, after what happened to me. Valentine needed a new second in command and he wanted Stephen." _Of course he did, _Jace thought bitterly. "Imogen, who was utterly loyal to the Clave, was hysterical—she begged Stephen to reconsider—but he cut her off. Wouldn't speak to her, or his father. He was absolutely in thrall to Valentine. Went everywhere trailing after him like a shadow." Stopping to take a breath, Jace took the time to stare at where he knew the boat was. He sensed a running theme with Stephen . . . and Luke, Hodge, and Clary's mom . . . they all followed his father so blindly it seemed. "The thing is," Luke continued staring in the same direction Jace was looking. "Valentine didn't think Stephen's wife was suitable for him. Not for someone who was going to be second in command of the circle. She had—undesirable family connections." Jace cast a sidelong glance at Luke, the sadness in his voice taking him by surprise. But he said nothing as Luke regained himself. "Valentine forced Stephen to divorce Amatis and remarry—his second wife, was a very young girl, only eighteen years old, named Celine. She, too, was utterly under Valentines influence, did everything he told her to, no matter how bizarre—" _Surprise, surprise, _Jace thought with a roll of his eyes. "Then Stephen was killed in a Circle raid on a vampire nest. Celine killed herself when she found out. She was eight months pregnant at the time. And Stephen's father died, too, of heartbreak." Luke sighed and looked up at the sky. "So that was Imogen's whole family, all gone. They couldn't even bury her daughter-in law and grandchild's ashes in Bone City, because Celine was a suicide." _And suicide is against Clave Law, _Jace narrowed his eyes. "She was buried at a crossroads outside Alicante. Imogen survived, but—she turned to ice. When the Inquisitor was kicked in the Uprising, Imogen was offered his job. She returned from London to Idris—but never, as far as I heard, spoke about Stephen again. But it does explain why she hates Valentine as much as she does."

"Because my fathers poisons everything he touches?" Jace spit angrily. Her whole family. He was the reason she lost her whole family.

Luke stared at him. "Because your father, for all his sins, still has a son. and she doesn't. And because she blames him for Stephen's death."

"And she right!" Jace said, throwing his hands up as he spun on the wolf. "It was his fault!"

Luke shook his head. "Not entirely." And Jace shot a disbelieving glare at him, but he ignored it. "He offered Stephen a choice, and Stephen chose. Whatever else his faults were, Valentine never blackmailed or threatened into joining the Circle. He wanted only willing followers. The responsibility for Stephen's choices rests with him."

"Free will," Clary breathed. But Jace wasn't buying it. Jerking his head to look at her, he could feel the anger flashing through his eyes.

"There's nothing free about it." _I wasn't free to choose my father. And I sure the fuck wasn't free from paying for his sins. _"Valentine—"

"Offered you a choice, didn't he?" Luke cut him off and Jace stared, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "When you went to see him, he wanted you to stay, didn't he? Stay and join up with him."

"Yes," he said finally. "He did."

"And you said no," Luke continued.

Jace felt a surge of irritation at Luke's confidence. And not just his, but everyone's. Everyone seemed to just know what he told Valentine . . . no one asked or wondered. He didn't like it . . . "I wish people would stop guessing that," he grumbled. It's making me feel predictable."

Luke nodded and turned away, but not before Jace saw the small smile playing on his grey face. _Oh, shut up, _Jace wanted to say. He was going to have to do something totally unpredictable now. Just to make himself feel better. But short of fighting Valentine naked, he wasn't sure exactly what he should do. Granted . . . the shock of a naked Shadowhunter running at him, might distract Valentine enough to grant him and Luke a little bit of an advantage. And they did need advantages right now . . .

"Someone's coming."

Jace turned to look in the direction that Luke was staring, just as Clary spoke. "Magnus. But he looks . . . different."

Cocking a brow, Jace took in Magnus' appearance and had to agree with Clary. He had no glitter and no glam to him now. His hair hung lose instead of the flamboyantly angry glitter spikes they were usually in, and his dark suit . . . Jace had to bite back on asking where the real Magnus was. In fact, the only thing that _was_ normal, were his cat eyes . . . and that's saying something. As Magnus came to a stop in front of them, his eyes darted between them with feline quickness. "You look surprised to see me," he said.

_That's an understatement,_ Jace thought as he checked his watch for the time. Had they really been waiting that long? "We did wonder if you were coming."

He looked up in time to see the annoyance cross Magnus's features. The warlock crossed his arms. "I said I would come, so I came," he said defensively. "I just needed time to prepare. This isn't some hat trick, Shadowhunter. This is going to take some serious magic." With that, his eyes slipped past Jace, to Luke. "Hows the arm?"

"Fine, thank you." Luke nodded curtly, and Magnus smiled.

"That's your truck parked up by the factory, isn't it?" the warlock continued, turning to point in the direction of the vehicle. And then his smile turned into a grin as he gave Luke a sidelong glance. "It's awfully butch for a bookseller."

Luke merely shrugged, rocking back on his heels as he did so. "Oh, I don't know. All that lugging around heavy boxes, climbing stacks, hard-core alphabetizing . . ." Jace rolled his eyes. Were they really making tongue in cheek references to Luke being a werewolf. But apparently Magnus was enjoying it, cause he laughed and then turned to Luke.

"Can you unlock the truck for me?" he asked. "I mean, I could do it myself—" raising his hand, he wiggled his fingers, "—but that seems rude."

"Sure," Luke said with a shrug, and Jace watched as he and Magnus took off toward the truck. His heart began pounding as he looked at Clary, next to him. This might be their only time to be alone. Before he spoke, however, Clary turned to follow Magnus and Luke. His pulse jumped, knowing that if she walked away he would lose his chance.

"Wait," Jace said suddenly, as his hand darted forward, catching her just above her elbow. "I want to talk to you for a second." She said nothing, but she also didn't walk away. She was tugging nervously on her curls—a nervous tick he didn't think he'd grow tired of—and watching Luke and Magnus as they walked away. The sliver of light left around them gave her Idris eyes an incandescent glow, and he was reminded of the pond back at the Wayland Manor. It had had such a mystical glow about it when the sun set just right, and it had always taken his breath away . . . just as her eyes did now. And then her brow furrowed and she made a face he didn't think she realized she was making. He nearly laughed at how easily she could lost in thought. But there wasn't time for that now. "Clary," he said softly. When she didn't respond, he tried again, louder. "Earth to Clary. Where are you?"

Clary looked up at Jace, as if surprised to see him standing there. And then she flushed causing a heat to spread through Jace as his pulse raced. "Sorry," she smiled sheepishly.

"It's all right," he said, reaching up and using the back of his hand to caress her softly freckled cheek. "You disappear so completely into your head sometimes," he breathed as his fingers traced down her cheek, to her jawline. "I wish I could follow you."

Clary shifted at his words, her emerald orbs meeting his. "What did you need to talk to me about?"

And then Jace realized what he was doing. _Stop it, dumbass!_ he yelled at himself, as he dropped his hand from her face. He's not sure what had come over him, but he hoped he hadn't completely ruined his chance. His heart pounded erratically in his chest as he tried to gather his thoughts back together. The Fearless rune—that's why he had stopped her. But he still hadn't decided how he would convince her. Staring at her, he bit the inside of his cheek. _Fuck it. I'll just wing it. _"I need you to put the Fearless rune on me. Before Luke gets back." He blurted out. _Well, that's one way to do it. _

But Clary just stared at him, her brow furrowing. "Why before Luke gets back?"

"Because he's going to say it's a bad idea. But it's the only chance of defeating Agramon." He was sure of this, and he hoped she would realize that—it was imperative that she realize that. "Luke hasn't—encountered it, he doesn't know what its like. But I do."

Clary captured his eyes, "What was it like?"

_It's like taking the worst and most terrifying thing you can possibly imagine. . . and having it torture you mercilessly without having any way of stopping it. It was agonizing and all consuming. It was something that had nearly killed him. _But all he said was, "You see what you most fear in the world."

"I don't even know what that is," Clary breathed, and he met her gaze with his own.

"Trust me, you don't want to," he said solemnly. _And if I have my way, you never will. _looking back up, Jace saw that Magnus was standing in the back of the truck, his arms wide, while Luke leaned against the trailer, watching him. They looked like they would be busy a little while longer. "Do you have your stele?" He asked, knowing without asking that she would Mark him.

Clary exhaled. "Yeah, I have it." Jace watched as she pulled off one of her oversized gloves and shoved her hand in her pocket to retrieve it, and he saw the slight tremor in her fingers when she pulled it out. "Where do you want your Mark?"

About a thousand retorts came to mind in response to her question, and Jace had to bite his cheek. _Sister,_ he reminded himself. But he couldn't help but to notice how nervous she seemed. At least it meant he wouldn't be the only one . . . though he was much better at hiding it. So where did he want her to Mark him? Well . . . "The closer to the heart it is, the more effective, he said, recalling an old lesson with Hodge. Before she could respond, Jace turned his back to her and let the jacket slip down his arms, and onto the ground. Taking the hem of his shirt next, he shimmied it up his back and over his shoulder. Behind him, he could have sworn he heard an intake of breath come from Clary. "On the shoulder blade would be good."

There was silence behind him, and he was starting to wonder if she was still there. But then he felt her hand against his shoulder and it was his turn gasp. He tried immediately to hide it—hide the electrical currant that vibrated through his skin racing goosebumps. _It's just cold, _he told himself firmly and not believing himself at all. And then he felt the bite of the stele as she began, wincing involuntarily. _By the Angel, is this how she had done Alec's Fear rune? _He wondered. If so, he's surprised he hadn't said something snide or scathing about it. But then . . . she was still new at putting Marks on others, he reminded himself. "Don't press so hard," he instructed softly, jumping again as the stele burned deeper.

"Sorry!" Clary breathed apologetically, and the pain in his shoulder suddenly decreased significantly. A moment later, he felt her move away—her hand leaving his skin. "There," she said. "You're finished."

Jace turned around as he pulled his shirt back down over his chest. "Thanks," he said, feeling absolutely no different. But right now, he also had nothing to be scared about, did he? So they were about to take on Valentine, a greater demon, and a massive horde of lesser demons with the worlds worse arsenal . . . but really, he still didn't see the need to be worried about it. Instead he stole a glance at Clary and saw that she was watching the flowing river. The sunset giving her a fiery halo around her head. His eyes traced down her face to her neck—the unblemished skin making his pulse race. "What about you?" He asked suddenly.

"What about me, what?" Clary asked, her brows raising as she looked up at him and Jace bit back on a smile as he took a step toward her, entering her space. His heart raced, not with fear but with excitement as she swallowed. But she didn't step away, Jace noticed.

"Push your sleeves up," he said, taking the stele out of her hand gently, his fingers brushing against her palms. "I'll Mark you."

"Oh. Right."

Was that disappointment, he wondered as he watched her fumble with her sleeves before holding out her bare arms. Jace met her eyes briefly before looking down and taking her by the elbow. Slowly, gently, his left hand glided across her skin. At one point, she sucked in her breath, and Jace raised his eyes to look up at. But she was watching the stele. He took another step closer to her as he turned her arm outward to finish the rune. And then he smiled and rubbed his thumb lightly across her Marked skin.

_"'And the Lord said unto him—" _Clary jumped away from Jace and jerked her sleeves down at Magnus's words. Jace on the other hand, merely felt annoyance at the intrusion. "—_Therefore whoever sleuth Cain, vengeance shall be upon him sevenfold. And the Lord set a Mark upon Cain, lest any finding him should kill him.'"_

Magnus had a wisp of a smile playing on his lips as he watched them. Jace shrugged and bent down to pick up his jacket. "You can quote the bible?" He asked, shrugging it back on. He had thought downworlders weren't allowed to speak holy quotes . . . you know, cause of the whole half-demon thing. It's pretty frowned upon, after all. Magnus just smiled wider, however.

"I was born in a deeply religious century, my boy." he said, picking at something on his frock coat. "I always thought Cain might have been the first recorded Mark. It certainly protected him."

_I guess you could say that, _Jace thought shoving his hands in his pocket. _Except it was actually meant as a punishment. To walk the earth, watching those you love die around you . . . forever alone._

"But he was hardly one of the angels," said Clary, crossing her arms against the cold. "Didn't he kill his brother?"

_There was that too, but . . . _"Aren't _we_ planning to kill our father?"

"That's different," Clary snapped stubbornly, looking at Jace who cocked a brow and bit back on a laugh. _If you say so. _Clary narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth as though she were going to say more but if she was, it was drowned out by Luke pulling up in the truck. Leaning out the window, the wolf looked between Clary, Jace, before his eyes rested on Magnus.

"Okay," he said. "Here we go, get in."

Magnus and Jace moved forward, but Clary stood looking flummoxed. "Are we going to drive to the boat?" _Yup. Drive, float, row . . . its all the same, anyway. Kind of. _She glanced around wildly. "I thought . . ."

Magnus merely laughed. "What boat?" He asked as he climbed into the cab and slammed the door shut. From the open window, he pointed to the bed of the truck. "You two, get in the back."

Jace smiled, wagging his eyebrows at Clary before turning and hopping lightly into the truck bed. He saw the dark pentagram that Magnus had painted immediately. It would make things interesting, that was for sure. Looking back to Clary, he saw her standing and staring at the truck, unsure of what to do. Her ruby curls were whipping around her face, but when she met Jace's eyes, she began to move forward with a shake of her head. Reaching down, Jace offered her his hand and felt only slight surprise as she took it with her massive oven mitt of a glove. As always, his pulse raced at her touch . . . but then, had he really expected the Fearless rune to stop her from being able to excite him? He lifted her with ease onto the truck, letting go immediately when she had her feet planted and watched as she immediately moved to the back and sat on the spare tire behind the driver. Reaching down, Jace pulled the trailer up and slammed it shut with resounding force at the same moment that Luke called back to them. He was hanging out the window.

"You know I don't like this." He said, looking directly at Jace. _Noted. _And then the wolfs keen eyes went to Clary, who had turned in her makeshift seat to see him. "Clary, you're going to stay in the truck with Magnus—" _Agreed. _"—Jace and I will go up onto the ship. You understand?"

Clary nodded before huddling back down into her seat. Jace watched her for a moment. There was no way she was going to stay in the truck. Surely Luke had to know this. Hell, anyone who knew Clary, knew this. Jace felt a slight burn on his shoulder, but otherwise shrugged before going to take a seat next to Clary and pulling his knees up and planting his feet firmly. "This is going to be interesting."

Clary looked at him confused. "What—"

Her question was cut off as the truck lurched forward into the shallow depths of the river, causing her to jolt backward and slap her head into the back of the cab with a resounding crack. Jace winced. _Ouch. _It had looked rather unpleasant. Clary, however, looked unfazed as she grabbed for the side of the truck and pulled herself up onto her knees. He could see the surprise and worry on her face, but Jace said nothing. She would see soon enough. He watched as she peered over the side of the truck and smiled as he let out a surprised gasp. Shadowhunter or not, she would always be his little mundie. Getting to his feet, Jace walked toward the back of the truck and watched as the bank of the river moved farther away. He couldn't help but to let out a light laugh. What would his father think when he saw Luke's "butch" truck heading for his armored ship?

Jace grinned back at Clary, who was now watching him. "Now this is _really_ going to impress Valentine."

Clary simply shook her head. "I don't know . . ." and she peered back over the side. "Other crack teams get bat boomerangs—" _Bat boomerangs? What the shit are those? Bats would make horrendous boomerangs! _"—and wall crawling powers." _Now that . . . I pretty much have. _Clary slumped back down. "We get the Aquatruck."

Jace snickered at the name. She wasn't wrong, however. Before he could respond, however, Magnus called out the window. "If you don't like it, Nephilim, you're welcome to see if you can walk on water."

Jace nearly laughed again as he remembered his initial thought back in the truck when Luke had assumed he couldn't walk on water. And then he looked out at the river moving around them, contemplating. Probably best not to test the theory right now. And then he looked back at Clary. His sister who wished were not his sister so that he wouldn't be judged for being so hopelessly in love with her—not that he really cared what other people thought. The could all go suck a toe. But _she _cared. She wanted to be his sister . . . at least sometimes it seemed. Other times, she didn't seem to know what it was she wanted. She was just as confused as he was—well, not quite. He knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted her.

Clary reached up to brush her hair back and then pulled her thin jacket around herself. When would girls learn that practical was better than fashionable? Jace shook his head. "Are you cold?" he asked, knowing the answer already as he walked back toward her—noticing the rear window had been fogged over as he went. Turning, he slid back down next to Clary.

"Aren't you?" she asked in response.

Jace merely shook his head and began to shrug out of his jacket. "No," he said, handing it to her. He watched as she wrapped it around herself, pushing her arms through the sleeves and zipping it up. She buried her face down into the collar, almost as if she were smelling it, and her shoulders relaxed a fraction. A strange reaction, Jace thought. He watched her for a moment, his adrenaline spiking as it often did when he stared at her too long. But this time, he wasn't worried about what she might say if she caught him. "You're going to stay in the truck like Luke told you to, right?"

Clary looked up at him, the emerald in her eyes harder to see now that the sun had set. "Do I have a choice?"

Jace bit back on a smile. "Not in the literal sense, no." he said stretching out his legs and dropping his hands in his lap. But he also knew Clary. His Clary. She was brave and beautiful and amazing and as stubborn as a mule. But there was so much more to her as well. So many things he wanted to say to her, and so little time. It made him sad. From his peripheral, he saw Clary taking off one of her gloves before sliding her hand across his leg to the top of his hand. He didn't hesitate in turning his palm upward and lacing his fingers tightly with hers. It felt right and perfect and normal.

"You'll find Simon for me," she whispered, her breath coming out in a plume of fog. Jace's stomach dropped and he tightened his grip on her hand. "I know you will."

"Clary," he breathed, meeting her eyes. He bit the inside of his cheek. She knew what their father was capable of—knew why he had taken the vampire in the first place. "He may be—" Her eyes shimmered with the reflective waters. Eyes that trusted him. He sighed as his shoulder tingled slightly. "I mean—he may be—"

"No," she said calmly but firmly, her fingers squeezing his. "He'll be all right. He has to be." And Jace let out his own breath as he stared down at their entwined hands. She loved Simon as she should love him . . . her brother. That's what she had said back at the Institute. He could understand that. Simon was the brother growing up that Jace was supposed to be. The brother he would never be able to bring himself to be. He was in love with her. There would never be anything more true than that. And he was sure that she must feel the same way . . . sure that she felt something at least. But he had always been so terrified of the answer. Because what if she didn't? And then he looked back up at her, his adrenaline rushing through him as he met her eyes. He wasn't terrified now.

"There's something I want to ask you," he said, his voice soft. "I was afraid to ask before," and he nearly smiled. "But now I'm not afraid of anything." She said nothing as she waited, her eyes wide, as if she might be the one scared of the question now. _Don't be scared. _Reaching across his body with his free hand he cupped her face, her cheeks cold against his palm. She closed her eyes and leaned into it, her body relaxing at his touch and her full lips parting almost expectantly as she raised her chin slightly. Jace watched her, his heart calmer than he knew it should be. He wanted this. His thumb caressed her jawline as he brought his mouth to hers, his lips brushing against her lightly as her warm breath flooded him.

And then he saw the shadow rising up over her shoulder and he jerked away suddenly, his eyes widening in shock. There it was . . . his fathers ship. They had made it through the wards . . . which meant . . . "Shit!" He shouted as he scrambled to his feet, going into full Shadowhunter mode now. If they had made through the wards, then his father would know they were here. He didn't feel scared at the idea . . . just angry and ready to be done with this. And then he saw them . . . the large mass of bird-like demons perched along the ships railings . . . as one by one they began to drop away from the boat. He looked back at Clary, who—_what in the Angels name was she doing? _She stood staring at the ship in awe, her hand raised to her mouth. "They're coming!" He shouted at her. "Get Abrariel out!"

Clary's eyes met his but she didn't move. "What?" She shouted back. "What did you say?"

Jace rolled his eyes, having forgotten that she didn't have some of the more basic runes he like he did. If they survived, he would need to rectify that. Crossing swiftly to her, he wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her in place as he slipped his other hand up and under the hem of his jacket and Clary's shirt—her skin hot against his already warm hand. A second later, his fingers wrapped around the hilt of the seraph blade and he unsheathed it. Pressing it into her hand firmly, his eyes met hers as he held her tightly. "I said—" he took a step back and immediately longed to hold her again. "—to get _Abrariel_ out, because they're coming."

Clary looked down at the blade in her hand and then back up at Jace. "Who are coming?"

"The demons," Jace said, pointing at the ship where they were taking flight. And then he watched in calm silence as they flew straight at the truck. They were ugly little beasts, he decided. Granted . . . not many demons were attractive. Which was probably a good thing, as it would make it harder to kill them. Probably. Jace shrugged, knowing there really wasn't much time to ponder it. Removing one of the blades from his belt, he whispered its name, _Telantes, _and felt the quite hum as it flashed to life. With the fluidity of smoke and water, Jace hopped onto the roof of the cab, the seraph blade held at the ready.

The demon was coming straight for him, and he counted down slowly—smiling with each beat of its wings. _One!_ Spinning, he sent the blade flying toward the bird-like demon and watched as it took off the top of its disgusting head. The demon screeched painfully and spiraled down into the river at the same time that Jace removed his silver dagger. Within seconds, another demon landed on the hood of the truck and Jace heard Clary scream out behind him. He looked back curiously, but she was alone for the moment. Content that she wasn't in immediate danger, Jace turned his attention back to the demon, who was now throwing itself at the windshield. _Really?_ he thought. _Seriously, I'm standing right in front of you!_ Rolling his eyes, he quickly dispatched the demon and kicked it off the side of the truck where it slipped under the water with a splash. Bunch of stupid ass demons, aren't you? Nearby, Luke was crawling out of the driver-side window and Jace made brief eye contact with him before jumping lightly back over the cab of the truck—bringing his dagger sharply up and across yet another demon as he went.

"Well done," Jace said appreciatively. He didn't necessarily like her fighting, but he wasn't scared for her either. If anything, he was turned on. _Probably shouldn't admit that, _he thought as Clary spun and brought her blade back up as another demon swooped in for the attack.

"What are these things?" she demanded as she slashed the demons chest with _Abrariel. _Jace was just about to answer, when as if in slow motion, he saw the wing of the disgusting beast hit the sleeve of his jacket and rip a gash in it.

_What the fuck?! _"My _jacket!" _he shouted as rage swept over. _That was my jacket you sorry excuse of a dinosaur! _He brought the silver dagger down through its spine. The demon screeched in pain before disappearing. Jace stalked over and grabbed Clary's arm, inspecting the torn and frayed sleeve. He sighed. "I _loved_ that jacket."

And then they were both spinning at the sound of ripping metal. Two demons had landed on the cab of the truck and were attempting to rip the roof off with their large claws. _What, my jacket wasn't enough? _He began to move forward irritably when he saw Luke swing his _kindjal _from the hood, sending one of the demons falling off and disappearing. With a loud screech, both from the demon and from the ripping and twisting metal, the other demon launched into the air, the roof of the cab in its claws and Jace glared at it as it flew back toward the ship.

_Asshole._

"Magnus!" Clary yelled, running to the ruined cab and leading inside. Jace heard Magnus say something, but couldn't tell what it was. Looking skyward, he checked to make sure there were no demons nearby before joining them. Magnus met his eyes.

"I'm just—drained," he tried to assure them as he tried to sit up, but only succeeding in falling further down on the seat. Jace raised a brow. "The protection spells on the ship are strong. Stopping them, keeping them off, is—difficult." He sounded exhausted. And not just exhausted, Jace thought, but completely depleted. Depleted of magic, energy, and life. "But if I don't do it," Magnus continued, "anyone who sets foot on that ship, other than Valentine, will die."

_Which would definitely be a conundrum, _Jace couldn't help but think at the same time that Luke spoke up. "Maybe you should come with us." He was kneeling on the hood, frowning down at Magnus. But the warlock simply waved him away with his hand.

"I cant work on the wards if I'm on the ship, itself." He said faintly. "I have to do it from here. That's the way it works." And Jace nodded with understanding. "Besides," Magnus continued with a grin that looked like it was taking some serious effort to hold there. "I'm no good in a fight. My talents lie elsewhere."

Clary shook her head and reached down into the cab for Magnus's hand. "But what if we need—"

"_Clary!"_ Luke screamed in terror at the same moment that Jace saw a demon appear from out of nowhere, sink its claws into the back of his jacket, and pluck Clary up as if she were nothing more than a rag-doll. His shoulder burned, but his heart was calm. He watched as the winged beast flew higher with its prize for Valentine. He hadn't even had time to place his hand on his belt, let alone release any of his weapons. Where the hell had it been hiding? He really hated those little bastards.

_"Clary!"_

The anguished and completely useless scream from the man-wolf brought Jace out of his thoughts. He never did understand why people kept screaming after someone when they were already gone. It wasn't like she could hear him. But that didn't stop Luke from running across the hood to the edge of the truck, and screaming for her anyway. Jace glanced down at Magnus, who was watching him intensely with his cat-like eyes. Neither of them spoke as he carefully made his way across the ruined cab, and onto the hood. Jace took a breath.

"It won't kill her," he said calmly, staring at the small flying shadow that held his world and knowing that he should probably be a lot more concerned than he was. Jace could feel Luke's eyes on him. "It's retrieving her for Valentine." That much he knew for sure—his father would be furious if the demon harmed her. What his father intended to do with her after he had her, however, was another story. He lowered his gaze to the black water below just as his shoulder began to tingle.

_Guess it's time to see if I can walk on water._

Jace dived from the hood at the same time that Luke began to speak. Whatever he said would have to wait though. Breaking through the surface of the river, and plunging deep under the water, he repeated Clary's name over and over in his head—using it to propel him forward. He took a breath as he came back up and began swimming ferociously toward the ship. He may not be able to walk on water, but he knew one thing for certain: He would enjoy killing the demon that snatched his whole world away from him, along every other demon that stood in his way.

Including his father.


	18. Best Laid Plans

**~Chapter Seventeen~**

**The Best Laid Plans**

The moment Luke broke the surface of the river, the hair on his body thickened in order to keep him warm and protect against the freezing bite of the ocean water.

_Clary._

Luke had never thought about being a father before Clary. Not when he was younger, and not when he was bitten and outcasted. In fact, he didn't really even consider the idea of actually being a father when Jocelyn—his heart thumped painfully—had told him she was pregnant with another of Valentine's children. He had offered to marry her—wanted to marry her—but still, the child was not at the forefront of his mind when asking. Not that it mattered then. Jocelyn had said no, and then left without telling him. But he could still remember the surprise he felt when he had finally found her. Remembered the wonder and awe he felt as a little red haired girl with freckles walked boldly up to him and demanded to know if he was her daddy. She was so pure. So completely untouched by the Shadow World and by Valentine, that he looked up at Jocelyn in shock. He hadn't thought it was possible.

That was the moment that he really, for the first time in his life, thought about being a father—and what being a father would mean.

And it was the moment he knew he would never be able to leave Clary, no matter the cost.

And now he swam hard, pushing himself as he followed Jace with just as much ferocity—not that he expected to catch up with the kid. How could he? Jace was a Shadowhunter while he . . . well, he wasn't anymore. He had come to terms with his lycanthropy long ago, however. He had learned how to be a werewolf and a mundane. But he could still remember every rune clearly, even if he could no longer wear them. And he was sure that Jace would have a Mark of Speed rune on him somewhere. Using his back legs, he kicked harder. Up ahead, Jace had reached the boat and was already climbing up a ladder that looked about as safe as a burning bridge.

And Shadowhunter or not . . . Jace was having trouble with it

Reaching the bottom, Luke looked up just as Jace's foot slipped on one of the rungs, and his heart somersaulted. And then he shook his head. Right now, he was thinking that the cost of staying just might be a heart attack. Luke had been sure that Jace was going to to fall, but instead he had managed to hold on with his hands—continuing to pull himself up until he found secure footing, and then moving on as if it had never happened. Grabbing ahold of the ladder, Luke began to haul himself up as well, though not with quite as much recklessness as Jace. The air was freezing against his body as he emerged from the water, his wet clothes hanging on him and weighing him down. But he continued to pull and climb, stopping only to check for any demons before continuing on.

It took some work, but soon Luke found that he was reaching for the rails at the top. Grabbing ahold of the freezing metal, he hauled himself up and over—his feet hitting the deck with a heavy thud. Jace was sprawled on his back, breathing hard. Luke looked down at him. "You all right?"

Jace stared at him, his golden eyes darkening a slight fraction. "Fine," he said casually, springing to his feet. Luke watched him speculatively. He was shivering but was otherwise unharmed it seemed. Before he could comment on it, however, Jace took a step away. "Somewhere there's a door that leads into the ship," he said, shrugging. "I found it last time. We just have to walk around the deck until we find it again." That sounded easy enough. But the moment he stepped forward, Jace had stepped in front of him, his gaze flat . . . bored almost. "And let me go first."

Luke stared at Jace with a raised brow. What the hell was wrong with him? This was definitely not the boy he had come to know. The boy he knew was constantly worried about Clary . . . constantly thinking of her . . . and constantly trying to protect her. The Jace he knew, would have been screaming Clary's name along with him on the truck and trying to do things out of fear for her. But this was not him. This was someone calm and collected. Someone who had no fear—he better not have. Luke felt a low growl rising up inside him, but bit it down. There was no point in arguing with him about it if he were right. Instead, Luke fell into step next to Jace as the walked. Jace said nothing, his eyes sweeping around the deck with the precision of a Shadowhunter. Luke crossed his arms, trying to keep his body warm. His wet clothes were doing nothing to help. It wasn't until they reached the front of the ship, the icy wind sending a chill through Luke, that he glanced over at Jace.

Not for the first time, he thought about how much the boy looked like Valentine—but not quite all at the same time. There was something . . . off. And he found nothing of Jocelyn in him, no matter how much he had looked. Now Clary . . . she looked just like her mother. His heart plummeted. If Valentine hurt her . . . if he put a finger on her at all . . . he looked up at Jace again. Valentine had wanted him, and he said no. That much he had heard. But Luke, better than anyone, knew what could happen when someone who Valentine believed belonged to him, refused him—especially if it included refusing something that Valentine went out of his way to offer in return. Luke had witnessed Valentine's idea of punishment. He had lived through it. But Clary, she was biologically his daughter. Would that make a difference? Luke swallowed.

"Your father . . . what did he say to you when you saw him?" Luke asked. "What did he promise you?"

"Oh you know, the usual," Jace said casually, shoving his hands in his pockets. "A lifetime supply of Knicks tickets." Luke stared at him, and Jace sighed. "He said no harm would come to me or anyone I cared about if I'd leave the Clave and return to Idris with him."

Hurting those you care about in order to hurt you . . . Luke was very familiar with that particular tactic of Valentine's. And he knew that Jace didn't care for anyone more than he cared about Clary. Which is what's what he had feared. But still, she was his blood . . . which was something Valentine coveted. "Do you think—" Luke shook his head, the words getting caught in his throat. He tried again. "Do you think he'd hurt Clary to get back at you?"

It was a moment before Jace spoke, instead choosing to stare out over the water. His face showed neither fear nor anger. It showed nothing at all. "No," he finally said. "I think he took her to make us come onto the boat like this, to give him a bargaining chip. That's all."

Luke stared at Jace, thinking about his words. Did he mean Jace for Clary? There was no way he would allow that—and there was definitely no way Clary would. Before he could reply, however, movement behind Jace caught his eye, tearing him away from his thoughts. And then he saw them. All of them shooting out of the black hole that had appeared in the deck. His heart hammered rapidly. There were so many . . . "I'm not sure he needs a bargaining chip." Grasping the handle of his _kindjal_, he jerked it out of his belt. Jace turned to follow his gaze, but said nothing. A second later Luke squinted into the bright flare of a seraph blade roaring to life, and cast a glance at Jace. What the hell was he thinking? There were way too many! And then he saw Jace's head tilt to the side as if he were counting them—contemplating taking them on.

"Stop!" Luke shouted suddenly as Jace took a fraction of a step forward. But he wasn't listening. "_Stop_!," he shouted again, this time grabbing the back of the boys shirt as he did so and yanking him back. "There's too many, Jace. If we can get back to the ladder—"

Jace jerked out of his grip. "We can't," he said flatly, pointing behind Luke. "They've cut us off on both sides."

Luke spun and stared. The boy was right. Demons—Raums, Oni's, Spider's, and so many more—were coming up behind them as well. There was no way . . . they couldn't possibly win this . . . _where the fuck had they all come from?!_ "FUCK!" he screamed, unable to stop or control himself in that moment. His heart was pounding as he searched desperately for an exit. He didn't find one. "Fucking son of a bitch, coward ass mother fucker, I swear to the _fucking_ Angel . . ." he glanced up at Jace, who was watching him with the slightest of grins. Luke bit down on his anger. "Jump over the side, then. I'll hold them off."

Jace raised a brow. "You jump. I'm fine here."

There was no fear in the boy. None. And he stared at the approaching demons like He welcomed them. There was no doubt now. Rearing his head back, Luke felt a ripple course along the surface of his skin like a wave rolling on the ocean. A growl rumbled in his stomach as he felt his body shifting and changing. He didn't need to fully change though—a skill that had taken him a long time to learn. It gave him the strength of the lycans while allowing him to remain as human as possible. Spinning on Jace, he stared at the boy who hadn't listened to him. The growl erupted and his lips pulled back as he pointed a clawed finger at him.

"You—" he was interrupted by a Moloch demon that had flung itself at him, and Luke readied himself. But then Jace was there, having moved much quicker than Luke had known any Shadowhunter capable. He brought the angel blade down into the demon, which howled. Luke grabbed it and tossed it over the side, spinning back on Jace. He didn't care how quickly the boy moved. "You used that Fearless rune, didn't you?" he demanded as he heard the demon hit the water behind him.

Jace merely smiled as he looked over his shoulder. "You're not wrong."

"Chirst," Luke said with exasperation. "Did you put it on yourself?"

"No." Jace spun, bringing up his blade. "Clary put it on me." The Angel blade streaked like lightning through the night, and two more demons dropped dead—disappearing into the void. He looked at Luke, the corner of his mouth ticking upward. "She's good at that, you know."

Shaking his head, Luke looked from Jace to the mass of demons. He had told them not to do it—told them it wasn't a good idea. But did they listen? Nooooo. Why would they listen to someone who knew what he was talking about?! "_Teenagers_," Luke growled, the word sitting in his mouth like a bad taste. When they were done—if they survived this—he was totally grounding them both. He'd tie Jace to a pole if he had to. With that, he turned and threw himself into demons, his clawed hands reaching out and mauling those that he could. He heard two thumps behind him as an Oni and another Moloch dropped to the ground. Rolling, he came up behind another one, and it began to turn just as Luke drove his _kindjal_ deep into it's slimy flesh. He didn't see the Raum, however, and he was tackled to the ground. Gripping his blade tightly, he drove it into the demon's abdomen where he knew one of its hearts was hidden. Luke leaped back to his feet, a howl escaping his throat.

And on it went.

He lost count, the amount of demons he killed. Luke had been slashed at, scratched, bowled over, and still he got back up. He registered, even distantly, how black the deck became with the more demons he killed. The blood was slick under his feet, and he adjusted his balance accordingly before jumping back in. Between him and Jace, they had made quite a bit of leeway—pushing back as the demons pushed forward. And then pushing back some more. They made it to the recess of the ship, the tall wall supplying some shelter. At one point he heard Jace cry out, and spun in time to see him releasing a chakhram, his arm bleeding heavily. But if it hurt, the boy didn't show it. He kept right on fighting—just how powerful was the Fearless rune? Lunging forward, Luke tackled a Kuri demon, dispatching it quickly and watching as its blood joins the others that painted the deck.

And then Luke watched, as if in slow motion, Jace duck the venom of a Spider demon and roll past it, the poison hitting an Oni demon instead. As the boy bounced to his feet next to him, Luke's eyes glanced back up in time to see the Oni tackle the Spider demon. He took a side step, closer to Jace and away from the wild spray of venom that spurted from the tangle of demons rolling around now, separating them from the rest of the horde. Thankful for the break in fighting, Luke glanced around for an escape route—his keen wolf eyes much stronger than his normal ones. Still he found nothing. "We should go for the railings," he growled at Jace. "Get off the ship. We can't kill them all—" he side stepped the venom spray again. "Maybe Magnus—"

"I don't think we're doing so badly," Jace cut him off with the excitement of adrenaline, spinning his blade in the air—and then lunging for his blade as it slipped out of his hands. Catching it, he turned and shrugged innocently. "All things considered."

Unable to stop himself, Luke barked out a laugh at Jace's clumsiness.

A moment of distraction that would cost him though.

Luke was only slightly aware of being knocked backward by something large. And then being slammed down roughly by that large something. His head rocketed into the deck, just as he felt the sting of something sharp slice at his face. Opening his eyes, he saw the—was that an Oni demon? It was a lot bigger than any Oni demon he had seen. Reaching up, he used his arm to block another blow, and then elbowed the demon and reached for his _kindjal_. It was gone. Letting out a growl, Luke let his hunter instincts take over as he used the only other weapon he had, his claws, in order to defend himself. It wasn't until he saw the shimmer of the blade from the corner of his eye, that he stopped to make a grab for it. But he wasn't fast enough. Luke felt the strong pressure around his ankle moments before he watched the _kindjal_ slip away from him. And then he heard the resounding crack that could only be made by a bone being snapped in half like a twig at the same time that severe pain shot from his leg and spread through his body. Luke cried out in both shock and agony.

Jace dived. He had seen it. But when Luke blinked again, the boy was standing with his hand out and the demons head fell to the ground with a sickening thump. A second later, the demon began to fold in on itself . . . disappearing into the void with the rest of them—but not before dropping Luke's _kindjal_ onto the deck next to him. He stared at the blade, and then up at Jace. He had moved fast. Faster than any Shadowhunter he knew, anyway.

Turning over, Luke grimaced as he pulled himself into a sitting position. The pain was intense, and he had to bite back hard on screaming out again. Jace was by his side within seconds. Dropping to his knees, he looked down at Luke. "Your leg—"

"It's broken," Luke answered before Jace could finish. And he flinched as the stabbing pain radiated again. Dropping his head back, Luke shook his head. This was exactly what they didn't need right now. He saw a shadow move across the roof.

Jace, on the other hand, was still staring a Luke's leg like he expected it to just snap back together easily. He looked almost perplexed. "But you heal fast."

Luke watched the shadows—Jace following his gaze and gasping—as they multiplied on the roof. They were going to repeat the Oni—a smart move, seeing as how he was stuck on the ground with a broken leg. He gripped his _kindjal_ tightly as he pulled his lips back. "Not fast enough."

And then he felt a pang in his heart as Jace got slowly to his feet, unsheathing a small dagger in the process. Was that all he had left? He looked down at Luke, nodding as if he heard the unasked question. When their eyes met, Luke knew that this was going to be the end for them. Could see it in Jace's eyes—eyes that still held no fear, only sadness now. His heart lurched as he stared at the boy who only wanted to be loved, while keeping everyone at an arms length. He thought of Jocelyn then, and all the things he never told her. All the things he should have told her. And he thought of Clary—his beautiful Clary. His daughter. He had tried to save her. It was all he could do.

The first demon fell, followed by the next.

They just kept coming.

Jace stepped over Luke, just as a large skeleton approached with a Katana. The demon was a ghastly sight, it's bones yellow with age and brightly colored flags hanging from its ribs. From the ground, Luke saw Jace's dagger sail smoothly through the air and had the demon had flesh, or a heart . . . the aim would have been perfect. But instead, it continued to shamble forward, barely noticing the blade sticking from its ribs. Before either of them could move, the skeleton brought the katana up . . . and then it was reeling backwards. Luke blinked, looking around wildly as he caught sight of a cloaked Shadowhunter dispatching the demon. And then blade after blade began to light up the deck, and Luke felt a exhaustive relief flood him. A second later, Malik pulled his hood back, smiling as he leaned in to say something to Jace. Whatever it was, was interrupted by yet another demon, and Malik turned and ran at it with his blade held high.

Luke grabbed Jace's leg and tugged at the same moment that the boy was jerked away by the arm. Luke's heart plummeted, his adrenaline spiking as he yelled out for him. He could not see who the dark figure was as they pulled Jace further away from everyone else. What were they doing? Grabbing the wall for support, Luke bit down through the pain as he forced his way up to his feet, grimacing at the feel of his muscles, tendons, and bone stretching and pulling as it pieced itself back together. He yelled Jace's name again, holding to the wall as he limped after him and the mysterious Shadowhunter.

When he came to the opening of the recess, a Ravener lunged out at him. In the next second, it was lying on its side with a long dark arrow sticking out of it. Luke looked up to see Alec, in black gear and a holding bow, approaching him.

"Where's Jace?" He shouted over the screams of fighting. His jaw was tight, but Luke could see the worry in his blue eyes.

He pointed in the direction he had seen him go. "Someone took him . . . I tried following."

Alec nodded and turned away. He made it only three steps before turning around and staring at Luke again, his eyes traveling down to his leg. "You're injured."

"I'm healing," Luke corrected with a sharp cry of pain. His leg bone had chosen that moment to snap back together. Alec winced as if he had heard it, and then looked over his shoulder—staring in the direction Luke had pointed as if he wished for nothing more than to be going there. Shaking his head, he moved to Luke and pushed up against his side, supporting his weight. "What are you doing?" Luke protested. "Go after Jace!"

"Right after I get you off this ship." Alec's tone was final, his grip tight. And Luke was too exhausted to fight against a fully Marked Shadowhunter. All he could do was stare into the darkness—hoping Jace was all right—as Alec ushered him toward the rails of the ship.

**#######**

After having helped Luke to the railing and seeing him safely down the ladder, Alec had returned to the deck of the ship. The fighting was loud and bloody, and several times he had had to nock an arrow and send it flying. His aim was true each time.

"Jace!" He shouted, thankful for the roaring noise level—not that it kept him from being able to hear his own fear in his voice. Moving in the direction that Luke had pointed, he was getting ready to nock another arrow when he was tackled from the side. Losing his bow, Alec's hand flew to his belt trying to grab one of his seraph blades, but failing. He hit the ground hard, sliding in the blood that coated the deck, but managing to dislodge himself from the monster at the same time. Pushing himself to his feet, Alec saw the _guisarme_ lying on the bloody deck and snatched it up; despondently wondering which Shadowhunter it had belonged to. Turning, he saw that the Kuri was already on it's feet and striking out—barely giving Alec time to throw up his arm up to block. The demon screeched angrily as its claws ripped a deep hole into the sleeve of his armored jacket before getting stuck.

"_My jacket!"_ Alec jerked his arm back irritably, bringing the demon unwillingly with it and driving the sharp tip of the _guisarme_ into it's heart. The demon let out a piercing scream before folding in on itself and disappearing, the weapon falling heavily to the ground. Alec glanced down at his ruined sleeve—he had loved that jacket—before rushing forward and scooping up his bow. Stringing it across his chest, he went back to pick up the _guisarme_—testing it's balance in his hand. It felt good. Gripping the polearm tightly, he continued on.

Alec's eyes darted side to side, his Night Vision Mark making it easy to see. But it wasn't very long before the fight began to thin out around him, causing him to panic knowing he still hadn't found Jace. His heart was jackhammering. _Please be alive, please be alive . . ._

"What does that mean?"

Alec stopped short, his adrenaline spiking and his heart somersaulting, as he lowered the _guisarme_. Up ahead, kneeling on the ground with his unmistakable golden mop of hair, was Jace. His hand began to ache and he loosened his grip on the polearm as he strode quickly to his _parabatai_. He would kill him . . . or hug him . . . maybe punch him . . . but definitely kill him! Grabbing the collar of his shirt, Alec jerked Jace—who was already twisting out of his grip—to his feet. And then he saw his face. He was covered in blood, his clothes torn and frayed, and his golden eyes showing as much shock as he was sure his own blue ones did.

"You're alive." Alec breathed, the relief he felt palpable. He still had ahold of Jace's shirt, and had to restrain himself from pulling his brother in and hugging him tightly, while screaming at him at the same time about how stupid this idea had been. He could have been killed . . . he could have died_—but he's alive._

Jace looked down at himself like he was just as surprised to be alive—Alec hated when he did that—and nodded. "I seem to be," he conceded. "I wont be for long if you don't give me weapon though."

He didn't have a weapon? Why didn't he have a weapon? _Because he's Jace and he doesn't need a weapon because he's so fucking awesome and_—now was not the time to argue. Alec had to look away as he bit back on his anger to keep from shouting at Jace, staring instead at their surroundings. Nearby, a Drevak demon had spotted them, and he watched with disinterest as it started toward them. Dropping his hand, he removed the seraph blade attached to his belt and handed it to his brother. "Here." He hoped his tone was normal. "It's called Samandiriel."

Jace took the blade, his eyes ticking past him at the same time that Alec heard the clicking from the demon. He didn't hesitate. Spinning on his heal, he thrust the _guisarme_ out viciously and buried it deep into the Drevak.

"Nice weapon," Jace said then, as Alec jerked the polearm back. He turned, his eyes falling on what Jace had been kneeling over, and his heart lurched. The black cloak was fanned around her crumpled body, but her hood was down. He recognized her face immediately. But how—No, surely this was someone else . . . it had to be! And yet, it looked so much like her. He took a step forward.

"Is that the Inquisitor?" He looked back at Jace. "Is she . . ."

"She's dead," Jace confirmed.

_Well I didn't think she was sleeping,_ Alec thought grimly as he stared back down at the Inquisitor. It almost looked like she was smiling—but that was probably because she got her greatest wish of tormenting Jace one last time before she died. The thought was cruel one, but he didn't care. He could feel the anger and hatred for this woman hitting him like crashing waves the longer he looked at her. "Good riddance," he said with one last disgusted glance down at her. "How did she get it?" He hoped it was painful, the horrible bitch.

When Jace didn't answer, Alec turned to look at him. His brother was staring down at the Inquisitor like he was confused—not that he had any reason to be. The Inquisitor was a horrendous and unforgiving human being. Alec thought it was fitting that she had died by the same army that she refused to believe existed—refused to believe Valentine had been building. Meeting his brothers golden eyes, he saw Jace open his mouth.

"Alec! _Jace!"_

Both boys looked up to see Isabelle running toward them, her jacket covered in blood, her rune'd bangles clashing merrily together, and her electrum whip curling around her like a cobra ready to strike at any moment. With arms wide open, she reached for Jace, and Alec saw it—saw the fraction of a step that his _parabatai_ made forward, before moving back back hastily.

"No," Jace stopped her, shaking his head. "I'm all covered in blood, Isabelle. Don't."

Since when did his brother care about being covered in blood? Alec raised a brow at him studying him closer as Izzy became more insistent, practically yelling at Jace. He looked tired, he realized. Exhausted and relieved and . . . maybe unsure? But that couldn't be right. Alec knew that Jace was often unsure of things, but he never showed it. Not like this—

"_Isabelle!"_

The scream from his _parabatai_ pulled him sharply from his thoughts, and as he turned he saw the gargantuan spider demon already spraying his sister with venom. Everything slowed down, moving at a snails pace. He heard his sister scream out as her electrum ship shot out and cut the demon in half. He saw her wobble, her whip slipping from her fingers and curling onto the deck. And he saw Jace jolt forward. It seemed to all happen in the span of a second. As Jace caught her, time sped back up. Alec blinked, staring in horror as his brother held their sister. Dropping the polearm, he moved forward quickly—his heart pounding loudly in his ears.

"Give her to me," he said. But he didn't wait. Reaching forward, he took Isabelle gently from Jace and lowered her to the deck. She was pale, her throat steaming from where the poison had gotten her . . . _not Izzy._ It was all he could think as he pulled his stele from his pocket and cast a glance back at Jace. "Hold off whatever comes while I heal her." And then he pressed his stele against her throat. Izzy whimpered softly, her body flinching away. Whether it was from he burn of the stele or the burn of the poison, Alec wasn't sure. What he was sure of, was that this—_all of this_—was the Inquisitor's fault. And she wasn't even alive to be held responsible.

"We have to get her off this boat," Jace's gruff voice came from above him, suddenly. He sounded off . . . worried but not scared. But could you be worried without being scared? His brother took a ragged breath. "If she stays—"

"She'll die?" Alec asked curtly, his hate for the Inquisitor flaring as he finished the Healing Mark. "We're all going to die. There are too many of them. We're being slaughtered. The Inquisitor deserved to die for this—this is all her fault." He could hear the savagery in his words.

But when he looked up, Jace was just staring at him expressionless. And then, "The Scorpios demon tried to kill me," he had practically blurted out, looking surprised as he did so. He shook his head. "The Inquisitor got in its way. Saved my life."

"She did?" Alec's tone was laced with blatant shock. There was no way . . . she was a horrible person who hated Jace. She used her own hatred for Valentine to bend and break the Law's of the covenant and punish his _parabatai_. Why . . . why would she change her mind now? And then Alec looked at Jace, repeating the word that played over and over in his head. "Why?"

But Jace only shrugged. "I guess she decided I was worth saving."

Alec couldn't fathom it, no matter how hard he tried. "But she always—" he cut himself off as two demons reared up behind his brother, ready to strike. His eyes growing wide, he pointed. "Jace, behind you—two of them—"

But Jace was already spinning, taking the Drevak and the Ravener head on. Alec didn't like this . . . he should be helping! Sucking in his breath, he tightened his arm around Izzy as he struggled to get up. With the Healing Rune kicking in, Izzy gripped him and tried to help get her feet under he as much as she could. He met her worried eyes as they finally stood. In front of them, Jace sent the angel blade Alec had given him flying, and he watched as it sliced through the Ravener. The demon screamed, it's poisonous ichor shooting out and coating the Drevak—who began to scream as well before they both began to fold in on themselves and disappear. It would have been funny, if it weren't for the fact that Izzy chose that moment to squeeze his shoulder tightly in pain. Alec shot a terrified glance to his sister. She had grown paler, her face was twisted with pain. She was still standing, but for how long?

"Jace," Alec said firmly, not taking his eyes off his sister. "We need to get Isabelle out of here."

"Fine." Jace said calmly. "You get her out of here. I'm going to deal with that."

That? That what? Pulling his eyes away from Izzy, Alec whipped his head around, but saw nothing. What the hell was he talking about?! "With what?" He asked when he still didn't see anything.

But Jace only stood and pointed casually, as if this were just another day on the job. "With that."

Alec's eyes narrowed as he tried to see what Jace was seeing. Even with his Night Vision Rune, it was hard to make out . . . he only saw the fire and steam and smoke and . . . was that movement? The longer he looked, the more the smoke and steam swirled with the movement of whatever was causing it. And then he gasped. Whatever it was, wasn't small. He could see it now—the multiple appendages, the hulking feet . . . but he knew of no demon like that. He cast a side glance at Jace. "What the hell is it?"

Jace stared at the lumbering demon like it was a bug to be dissected. "Big," he said finally. "Very."

Isabelle slipped, pulling Alec's attention away from the massive demon as he tightened his grip on her. She nodded weakly, trying to reassure him. Yeah, he wasn't reassured at all. "Jace, he called out, getting his brother's attention.

From his peripheral, he saw Jace turn and look at them fully now, and Alec looked up to meet his gaze; his heart plummeting as he saw the sadness in his eyes—the regret. But it was quickly replaced with determination and acceptance, however, as he pointed at a nearby rail. "Alec . . . get Isabelle to the ladder, now, or we'll all die."

Alec stared at him. At the acceptance still in his brothers golden eyes. What the hell was he accepting? And then it hit him. He was trying to save both him and Izzy. Alec could see it all playing out in his mind—Jace holding the demon off while giving them time to get off the ship. No . . . _no_. But Jace was staring at him, his eyes pleading now. His resolve was set. Turning, he pushed Isabelle toward the railing.

"No!" She screamed suddenly, her body still weak and unable to fight as she tried to get away from Alec. "Jace—_JACE!"_

Locking his jaw, Alec took advantage of her weakness as he half helped, half forced, her over the railing. She glared daggers at him, her eyes accusing as she gripped the rungs of the ladder. _Go, Iz,_ he pleaded silently as she began to lower herself. Below, one of the Clave boats rocked against the giant ship, and he saw another cloaked Shadowhunter watching his sister descend. Good. He liked knowing that he would not have to see her all the way down.

Taking a breath, he stepped off the railing and back onto the deck, swooping down to pick up the _guisarme_ as he did. And then he met his brothers eyes, seeing both the pain and relief in them. Had he really expected him to leave? But then . . . Alec knew Jace. And yes, yes he really would have expected him to leave. Alec shook his head.

_Wither thou goest, I will go._

Behind him, he could hear Isabelle screaming still and he had to shut it out. But the moment he took a step forward, Jace's eyes went wide and he lurched toward Alec. He wouldn't make it. Jace cried out as he fell ungracefully forward, his foot sinking into a worn part of the deck. Alec could hear the force with which his brother went down.

"Jace—" It was all he managed to shout before he was flying backward, the air knocked out of his lungs as the hulking demon plowed into him. Spinning in the air, though not as fluidly as he'd have liked, Alec brought the sharp end of the polearm up and stuck it deep into the monstrous thing. He landed in a crouch as the demon reared back, screaming—a horrific childlike sound that gave him chills. It was then that Alec really saw it . . . worse than he had even imagined. It's hose like mouth—was it a mouth? It had to be at least eight feet long—whipped widely through the air. _Shit_ . . . Turning, Alec darted away, trying desperately to pull his bow off his shoulder. Before he could, he was knocked back down on the deck, his head cracking painfully against the metal.

_Shit._

He couldn't see.

_Pay attention!_

He tried so hard, but his head was swimming.

Screaming. He heard screaming. At least he thought he did. And he felt something wrapping around him . . . he hoped that it wasn't the weird long mouth thing. It really was gross looking. And then he heard Jace shouting. Alec blinked.

_Shit!_ The demon had him pinned down, and his weird mouth hose was in fact wrapped around his body . . . something Alec was not the least bit thrilled about. Turning to hiss at Jace, it loosened it's grip on Alec, who struggled to get up—a serious mistake. Growling viscously, the demon reared back at the same time that Alec felt his body leave the deck and—_son of a bitch! _His body crashed down into the deck, his head slamming against the metal once more.

The last thing he remembered was the odd swooshing sound that surrounded him.

And that it was suddenly very windy.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN:<em>** _I_ _had_ _some_ _trouble_ _with_ _this_ _chapter_... _Not writing it, but how to write it. I ended up_ _cutting_ _quite a huge chunk out, where I had gone into the Inquisitors POV. In the books, we don't find out about Jace's true heritage till the 3rd book, and while it's my belief that if you're reading fan fiction, you probably already know what happens but... I still wanted to stay true to the books. That being said, if you all are interested in this missing piece, let me know and I will put it in the CoH Outtakes. Thank you to everyone for reading and please let me know what you think!_


	19. Maybe We're Not So Different After All

**~Chapter Eighteen~**

**Maybe We're Not So Different After All**

It was a rare thing when Magnus allowed his magic to become completely depleted. Not unheard of, by any means, but still incredibly rare all the same. At least it used to be, until this became second time he'd done it in only a few weeks. And for the Nephilim, no less. The Shadowhunters—_Shadowhunter,_ he corrected himself. Just one. But before now, the last time he had depleted his magic so completely was several, _several,_ years ago when he had been a little too drunk and a little too cocksure. Magnus had woken up in a rather shady motel with a d'jinn named Pete and he had slipped out as quietly as he could. Today they would have called it _'the walk of shame.'_

And before _that_ . . . his mind drifted to Tessa. There was time when she went by Tessa Herondale, but when he had met her, it was Tessa Gray. And then he was shaking away the memories her name brought to him. Memories of automatons and trapped angels and the most insufferably, understanding love triangle he had—at that point of his long life—ever encountered. But then, who was he to deny that they had intrigued and moved him, as well? He had always been a hopeless romantic with a penchant for beautiful creatures. And he had not been disappointed by the beautifully innocent warlock Shadowhunter girl, nor by the _parabatai's_ that loved her—the silver angel who had been cursed to die, and the dark angel who had been cursed to love.

A dark angel whose eyes were the same hellish blue as Alexander's—something Magnus had noticed the first time he had met him. It was also something he had commented on, however vaguely, the night Alexander had come to ask him out. And Magnus, closing his own disconcerting eyes, smiled as he remembered their horrifically amazing first date. He had known by the end of it that he was screwed. So very screwed. His heart had beat out with the excitement of hope, his skin had tingled with desire. _Over a Shadowhunter._

After that first date, it became a whirlwind for both of them. Alec was . . . _well, he's not innocent,_ Magnus thought with a devilish grin. _Not anymore._ But Alec was still learning to accept who he was, and Magnus—maybe better than anyone—knew how hard that could be. Which was why Magnus tried so hard to be understanding and supportive when it became clear that Alexander did not plan to tell his family about his new relationship. Each time the topic was broached, Alexander would sputter and become defensive, denying everything—only to apologize to Magnus later for it when they were alone. _I'm__ just not ready yet,_ he would say. But that wasn't even the hardest part about being with Alexander. No, the hardest part for Magnus, was knowing that Alexander was in love with his stupid _parabatai_—watching as he made an ass out of himself every time Jace was around, and catching the glares of jealousy he cast at Clarissa. And even still, Magnus endured it. _Because I'm an idiot in love with an infuriatingly charming, sexy, and closeted Shadowhunt—_

Magnus eye's flew open in surprise.

And then he blinked, forgetting his initial shock as he remembered where he was. He could smell the salt of the ocean water surrounding him in the darkness, and hear the screams and cries of both Shadowhunters and demons alike. Magnus had watched them arrive. He had also felt the traitorous flip of excitement and nervousness travel through his nerve endings at knowing that Alexander would be among them.

Standing in the cab of Lucian's truck, his arms were wide as rolling tendrils of blue smoke curled and coiled around his body. And then Magnus sighed, exhaustion slamming into him as he realized that he had just nearly slipped out of consciousness. He bit down and tried to focus harder when he heard Isabelle screaming—even from this distance he knew it was her. Looking through the haze of fatigue, he saw the female Lightwood scrambling into one of the Clave boats, her hands pointing up at something. Curious, Magnus allowed his gaze to travel to where she was pointing and saw a shadow flying from the ship, toward where the truck floated idly. _The strangest cannonball I've ever seen,_ Magnus thought with amusement. The amusement was short lived. Magnus's golden cat eyes opened wide with shock and panic as he stared longer at the body, watching as it plummeted downward. A body a little too familiar to him.

Alexander broke through the surface of the river not far from the truck, and Magnus nearly tripped as he rushed to the edge of the cab. _He would come up . . he would . . ._ but he wasn't coming up. Magnus gasped, the thought of losing Alexander more painful than he had ever thought it would be. He cast his hand out, ready to use the last of his magic to pull the Shadowhunter from the icy depths below, and hesitated. He knew that doing so would not leave him much time before he passed out. And once he passed out . . . Magnus cursed. Turning, he conjured the quickest ball of orange light he had ever produced, his heart racing with each second that Alexander spent underwater, and used his last bit of magic on a Free Float enchantment.

He dived beneath the waves.

The thought of a world without the young Shadowhunter spurred Magnus into action, gave him the energy he had been lacking as he kicked downward. The ocean water was cold, because it was ocean water, and it was dark beneath the surface because most lights didn't work underwater. Luckily, a perk of Magnus's cat eyes was the ability to see in the dark—even if that all encompassing darkness was beneath the river. Sweeping his eyes in the direction that he had seen Alexander disappear, he lowered his gaze until—_there._

Alexander had sunk down so much further, but Magnus's chest was already burning. He stared longingly at the Shadowhunter before kicking his way to the surface and taking air into his lungs. He had always thought that vampires had been lucky in this regard. Needing air could really be quite burdensome. He didn't think long on it, though, as he pushed and kicked his way back down into the depths of the river once more—swimming as hard as he could, his blood racing, his head dizzy with impending unconsciousness, until he finally wrapped his long slender fingers around Alexander's wrist. It was like an eternity that happened in the span of a second. Magnus felt his heart hammering—could hear the blood pulsing in his ears—as he pulled Alexander up.

Magnus had never had much physical strength . . . he'd never needed to have it before! And he was sure that this was a hell of a time to be testing it out—given that he was likely to pass out any moment. And now his lungs were starting to burn again. But the harder Magnus tried to kick, the more he realized how badly he needed to breathe. And then hysteria seized him—if he was alive and already having trouble holding his breathe . . . then Alexander . . . how could he? Turning in the water, he brought Alexander up and weaved his hand under his arm and around Alexander's chest, holding tight as he kicked harder. His chest, his arms, his legs . . . everything was on fire. He felt helpless. He felt like—like a mundane. One who was about to lose what may be the greatest love of his life and unable to do anything about it. Magnus couldn't let Alexander die. He couldn't . . . _not now._ And he wasn't a mundane! He was a warlock! And not just any warlock, either, but the _High Warlock of Brooklyn!_

Magnus's head broke the surface of the water for the second time, his lungs gasping hungrily for air as he immediately rolled onto his back so that Alexander was resting on his chest. He wasn't moving—not that Magnus thought about that. And as he backstroked with one arm toward the truck, he didn't think about how pale Alexander was, either. Or how his body felt cold—colder than the ocean. And he definitely didn't think about how it looked like he wasn't breathing.

At the truck, Magnus held tightly to Alexander as he reached up and dropped down the tailgate. His whole body was buzzing with adrenaline, and it was with that, that he he managed to shove Alexander up into the bed of the truck. Strangely, it was harder to pull himself up, nearly collapsing when he finally did so. But his panic kept him focused. Alexander, sweet Alexander, was unconscious. Or dead. _Don't be dead_. He definitely wasn't moving—or breathing. _Don't be dead._ And whatever had done this to him, had been big. Magnus looked at Alexander both tenderly and with a terror so deep it physically pained him. He had bruises blooming along his jawline and some disappearing under the collar of his shirt. His Marks shown stark against his still paling skin, and there was a long gash in the sleeve of his armored jacket. In other places there were holes where the fabric had been burned away by some kind of acid.

Magnus cried out unwillingly as gut wrenching sorrow and longing radiated from his heart and through his body. And he tried—tried desperately—to use his magic. _Don't be dead._ He tried with everything he had. But each snap . . . each wiggle of his fingers . . . and his magic only sparked like the flint of a lighter without fuel.

And Alexander just laid there. Magnus cursed desperately. There was something he should be able to do . . . _something!_ Even mundanes had a way of helping drowning victims—something he knew because of Catarina. She had made him sit through the painfully boring class. And Magnus had watched both horrified and amused as several mundanes pressed their slobbery mouths against plastic dolls. _That's it,_ Magnus's heart skipped painfully.

Shaking his head and pushing back his wet hair, he put the heel of his trembling palm in the center of Alexander's chest, placing his other hand over it and lacing his fingers together. He kept his arms straight, elbows locked, as he began compressions; letting his upper body do the work and counting as he winced at the sound of Alexander's chest cracking—a common occurrence, Catarina had said once. He didn't stop counting until he reached thirty. Scrambling to Alec's head, he tilted his chin up and Alexander's mouth popped open. Magnus's heart somersaulted only once before he pressed his mouth over Alexander's, giving him two quick puffs of air and watching to make sure his lungs rose with each breath. He began again on the chest compressions.

And so it went . . . .

Thirty compressions, two breaths.

Thirty compressions, two breaths.

Each compression was a stab to his heart, each breath a bit of hope lost. Magnus was exhausted, physically, mentally, magically. He should have passed out by now, but he kept going—forced himself to continue as he refused to give up. Refused to lose Alexander. Just as Magnus moved to bring his lips back against the Shadowhunter's once more, Alexander's body convulsed. Magnus, startled, lost his balance and fell backward into the corner of the truck bed. He did not have the strength to pull himself back up. And so he watched, pleading—damn near begging and afraid to hope—as Alexander jerked himself up into a sitting position and began coughing up water and river sludge. It was the most disgustingly amazing thing Magnus could ever witness. He had saved him. Without help. Without magic. Just him. It was the first time in his long life that he had ever done something like that. His heart swelled, and he knew he would need to remember to thank Catarina for forcing him into that grotesque class, after all.

And then Magnus found himself captured by a shocked pair of blue eyes, and his pretty petite warlock friend slipped from his mind.

"What—what _happened?"_ Alexander asked through chattering teeth.

_You nearly died,_ Magnus wanted to say. _I nearly lost you._ But all he did say, his tone flatter than he had meant it to be, was, "You tried to drink the East River." Alexander's gaze traveled down to Magnus's ocean soaked body—not his finest looking moment, he was sure—and then back up to meet his eyes questioningly. Magnus shrugged half-heartedly. "I pulled you out."

Alexander, his mouth popping open and a shadow crossing his face as if trying to remember, stared back at the ship. Soon confusion turned into understanding and then to panic. He grappled for his belt but gave up quickly, his horrified gaze turning back to Magnus. "Isabelle!" he practically shouted in his panic. "She was climbing down when I fell—"

"She's fine," Magnus cut him off. _And so am I, thanks for asking._ But even then, he couldn't bring himself to be mad at Alexander. Magnus was still just so grateful that he was alive. "She made it to the boat." And then his cat like eyes focused on the blood that was slowly slipping out from beneath Alexander's matted ebony hair and down the side of his face. Magnus wished that he had the ability to heal him quickly, but with depleted magic and the inability to use a stele, he could only stare at him. "You, on the other hand—" _Could have died. Do you know what that would have done to me? Do you even realize what you mean to me?_ But he said none of this as he stared at the young Shadowhunter. Reaching forward, Magnus lifted his hand, wanting nothing more than to push Alexander's hair back. "Might have a concussion."

Alexander pushed his hand away. "I need to get back to the battle." Alexander stared back at the ship and Magnus followed his gaze. It was smoking, and the every now and then he could see a tendril of flame shoot into the night. But Magnus wasn't sure if it was caused by a flame demon or if the ship was just burning. It was probably just burning. In fact, he was sure it was just burning. There was probably some secret Creed of theirs that stipulated as much. _Shadowhunters: When in times of doubt or trouble—burn burn stabbity burn._ Alexander shook his head irritably, sending droplets of water flying in every direction like scattering diamonds, and for a bizarre moment Magnus wondered if Alexander had heard his thoughts. He hadn't. "You're a warlock," Alexander suddenly insisted. _I am? Well, my goodness me. Why had I not realized? _But Magnus was too tired to pull off the sarcasm required to say the words. Instead he met Alexander's hellish blue eyes. They looked like midnight under the pale glow from the moon from above. "Can't you, I don't know, fly me back to the boat or something? And fix my concussion while you're at it?"

_And save all your friends, and keep the boat safe from certain death, and_—Magnus slumped back against the corner of the truck bed, his hand falling limp in his lap. He stared at Alexander with disappointment. Did he really only see him as something with an endless supply of magic? No—he knew his Alexander better than that. His Alexander was sweet and soft and unsure of himself. The man in front of him was Alec Lightwood: Shadowhunter. Battle-minded and overly sure of himself. So this was what it would be like . . . a future with a Shadowhunter. And still Magnus could not imagine being without him. _Because I'm and idiot._

"Sorry," Alexander said when Magnus had still not spoken, and he meant it. "I know you don't have to help us out—it's a favor—"

Magnus rolled his eyes—a strenuous effort well worth it. "Stop." Did Alexander really think that's what he was doing here? As a favor to other Shadowhunter's or to the Clave? But one look at him, told Magnus that that's exactly what he thought. And for some reason, this irritated Magnus more than when Alexander had demanded to be flown back to the ship. "I don't do favors, Alec—" He used his nickname angrily, pleased, as he usually was, with the way it sounded. It really was a good twist. _Not_ that he thought the battle-minded Lightwood had noticed. And then Magnus sighed. "I do things for you because—well, why do you think I do them?"

Alexander stared at Magnus with those midnight blue eyes—as blue as the sunsets of Hell. And Magnus was definitely burning in them. _Tell me,_ he pleaded silently, _that you understand that I do this because . . . that you realize that . . ._ Alexander dropped his eyes, but Magnus continued to burn. "I need to get back to the ship." Alexander's voice may have been as light as a feather, but it cut Magnus like a dagger—whether he had meant for it to or not.

_Of course._ And then his head was swimming—his energy completely spent, and still he was awake. But for how much longer? Magnus blinked, trying hard to stay focused. "I would help you," he breathed. He always would, he realized. He also knew that if he were not so exhausted, he would be rightly outraged by this realization. "But I can't." Seeing Alexander's look of confusion, he smiled ever so slightly. "Stripping the protection wards of the ship was bad enough," he explained. "It's a strong, strong enchantment, demon based—but when you fell—" _When you didn't come back up . . . when you nearly died._ Magnus faltered, his throat restricted. "I had to put a fast spell on the truck so it wouldn't sink when I lost consciousness. And I will lose consciousness, Alec," Magnus added, seeing the look on Alexander's face. In fact, he was surprised that he still hadn't. "It's just a matter of time."_ But I couldn't lose you. I couldn't._ And he could feel the tears welling up, stinging at his eyes. He quickly covered his face, refusing to let Alexander see. "I didn't want you to drown." The emotional words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. And then he looked at Alexander—Alec when he was annoyed or angry—and knew he would not regret saving him. He was worth depleting his magic for. "The enchantment should hold long enough for you to get the truck back to land."

"I—I didn't realize—" Alexander was looking at him now, his eyes blue flames, and Magnus had the unescapable feeling that he was really being seen for the first time. That in the back of this truck, under the watchful glare of the hazy moon and a burning ship—because it was definitely burning now—Alexander was truly seeing him as he was. It made Magnus uncomfortable and excited and terrified and exhilarated. It also made him inexplicably sad. Would Alexander like what he saw? Would he still _want_ what he saw? As if hearing his unasked question, Alexander, his jaw set, held his hands out to Magnus—whose heart skipped as he raised a brow, wondering what the Shadowhunter was doing. "Take my hands," Alexander explained, which admittedly only confused Magnus more. "And take my strength, too. Whatever of it you can use to—to keep yourself going."

_Oh._ It was a sweet gesture. But Magnus knew that that wasn't what Alexander really wanted. "I thought you had to get back to the ship." He couldn't help but to get the dig in. But Alexander was unfazed by it. Magnus knew this look of determination on his face.

"I have to fight." Alexander's words were strong and unmistakable. And then he sighed, an apologetic look on his infuriatingly angelic face. "But that's what you're doing, isn't it? You're part of this fight just as much as the Shadowhunter's on the ship—and I know you can take some of my strength." Even in the dark, Magnus saw Alexander's cheeks flush as he dropped his head. "I've heard of warlocks doing that—" And then Magnus's heart leaped traitorously as Alexander, his head still bowed, cast his gleaming cobalt eyes up at him from under his thick dark lashes. "So I'm offering. Take it. It's yours."

Magnus stared at Alexander. There were so many things he wanted to say in that moment. And many more things he would want to say afterwards. But it could wait. _All of it._ In fact, Magnus wasn't sure he would be able to find the right words anyway—as impossible as that seemed. It was true that warlocks could draw on the strength of others . . . but never, that Magnus knew of, had a Shadowhunter offered to be the one to help. At least not until now.

Closing his eyes, Magnus cursed. He cursed Valentine for not being dead like he should have been—it really was rather discourteous of the evil Shadowhunter. He cursed the stupid ship for burning and creating an attractive halo around Alexander—one that caused blazing heat to spread through Magnus's body. He cursed his father for making him what he was. And he cursed Alexander. He cursed the stupidly amazing Nephilim for asking him out, for giving him hope, and for continually taking everything Magnus ever thought he knew about Shadowhunter's and proving him wrong.

When Magnus opened his eyes, he found Alexander's sapphire eyes still watching him, still pleading, his hands still out. And Magnus, as tired and exhausted as he was, raised a ridiculously heavy hand and grasped Alexander's strong and steady one. Within seconds, Magnus was being pulled to his feet, his stomach flipping. For one absurd moment, he thought he might throw up—something he wasn't about to let happen.

Standing next to Alexander, their hands still clasped together, Magnus could smell the sweat and blood and salt water that clung to him. And then a wave of dizziness hit him and he swayed on his feet. But Alexander was there, one hand still holding tight to him while his other hand slipped quickly around Magnus's waist. He had no choice but to let Alexander support his body and weight, something the young Shadowhunter was probably used to.

But to Magnus's surprise, Alexander didn't hold him like a comrade in arms. He could feel the gentleness in which Alexander held him; felt the hitch in his breath as he treated Magnus like a fragile doll. Slowly, caressingly, their fingers laced together intimately, and Magnus laid his head gently against the crook of Alexander's shoulder, nuzzling his neck. He could hear Alexander swallow, his thumb stroking the back of Magnus's hand softly, almost absentmindedly. And when Magnus looked up to meet Alexander's eyes, he was met, instead, with a soft and unsure brush of Alexander's lips across his mouth. Magnus couldn't hide his surprise at the gesture, but Alexander only smiled sheepishly. When he spoke, however, Alexander's words were strong and sure.

"Are you ready?"

**######**

Smoke. That was what this one was—this one of terrible forms and nightmares. But now, Agramon followed, and this one had to be quiet when he followed. Smoke was silent—smoke made no sound. His _Master_—the word was spat angrily in Agramon's mind—had told him to come here. To find the boy. But this one could not be too upset for having Valentine Morgenstern as it's Master, it supposed. Worse Master's there have been, but Valentine . . . his bloodlust and hunger allowed Agramon to feed as he wanted to feed and kill as he wanted to kill. So for now this one would waft through the rafters. Agramon had watched as the boy—Jonathan but not Jonathan, as this one had come to know him—had fallen from the weakened deck into the ship. Watched as he made his way along the winding catwalk with his witchlight. Every now and then, the boy would stop, look around almost carelessly, and then move on. After a short distance, Agramon saw Jonathan but not Jonathan stop and pick up an object off the ground. The boy looked shocked and sad as he closed his fist tightly around it.

This one felt amusement. Jonathan but not Jonathan—he had many fears, but only three that had stood at the forefront of his mind when Agramon had approached him for the first time back in the City of Bones. And what terribly simply fears they were too. This one could have sucked him dry right then—even having just fed on the terror of the Silent Brothers, delicious as they had been. But Agramon had already shown Jonathan but not Jonathan his fear of his sister, and he was sure the boy would be prepared for it. This one wondered if the boy even realized the severity of his fear of his father or for the family that was not his family. He also wondered if his Master knew of the fear Jonathan but not Jonathan had of him; the fear of being like Valentine—becoming him—for Agramon had not mentioned it. Some things . . . this one would keep from his Master.

Agramon slipped ahead of the boy, it's body changing as he materialized from the smoke—his features churning as it took form, black and monstrous and grotesque. And he laughed—laughed with each terrifying transition. He heard the boy call out as this one landed silently on the catwalk . . . tall and strong, cruel and proud, as pale as the moon and with eyes as black as coal. The dark gear molded around it's body, it's head sprouting white-blonde hair. Turning, he took in the boy just as the boy's wide eyes focused on him.

"Father? Is that you?" Jonathan but not Jonathan called out. And this one—Valentine but not Valentine—smiled and raised its hands toward the boy.

"My son," Agramon said, his voice like his Master's.

The boy's eyes became as sharp as daggers. "Don't call me that." But this one was quick. While he did not feel the fear he would soon feed on, he _had_ seen the tremor in the boy's hands. Jonathan but not Jonathan took a step forward. "Where's Clary?"

Agramon smiled wider. The boy made it too easy sometimes. It knew his fears. "She defied me," he said as smoothly. "I had to teach her a lesson."

_"What have you done to her?"_ The boy hissed. He should be scared—this one should feel it—and yet, Jonathan but not Jonathan showed not fear, but anger. This one loved a challenge.

Taking a step forward, and then another one, Agramon could feel as his insides rolled and boiled beneath the surface of the false skin and clothes. "Nothing," this one said, staring into the boy's eyes—searching for the fear it knew was there. "Nothing she wont recover from."

Jonathan but not Jonathan balled his fists, and Agramon felt it . . . just a spark of . . . something. But it could not be sure that it was the fear he had hoped for. "I wan't to see her."

Of course the boy would. But this one was not done. This one had not felt the terror he had so looked forward to . . . yet. Agramon stared up and through the ship. "Really? With all this going on?" He watched the fighting . . . watched his brethren fall by the hands of the Nephilim. He cast his gaze back down to the boy. "I would have thought you'd want to be fighting with the rest of your Shadowhunter friends. Pity their efforts are for nothing."

"You don't know that." The boy's lips were thin as Jonathan but not Jonathan met this one's gaze defiantly. There it was again. That spark. But it wasn't fear, and Agramon felt—deep down—that something might be wrong with the boy. In the City of Bones, it had been so easy to extract fear and plant seeds in his weak mind . . . but now.

"I do know it," Agramon assured him cooly, his tone as arrogant as his Master's. "For every one of them, I can summon a thousand demons. Even the best Nephilim can't hold out against these odds." And then this one smiled cruelly before adding. "As in the case of poor Imogen."

Shock replaced the boys cool defiance. "How do you—"

"I see everything that happens on my ship," Agramon cut him off. And this was true, for Valentine did see and know of everything happening on the ship . . . _because this one tells him._ But this one had also been on the deck, feeding off the fears of Nephilim when Imogen, her fear deliciously palpable, had rushed out to place herself between the demon and Jonathan but not Jonathan. Agramon had very nearly even admired her bravery. And then its eyes narrowed, looking at the boy. "You do know it's your fault she died, don't you?" When the boy remained stoic, this one continued on viciously. He would break through whatever was wrong with the young Shadowhunter. This one would taste his fears again. "If it weren't for you, none of them would have come to the ship. They thought they were rescuing you, you know. If it had just been the two Downworlders, they wouldn't have bothered."

Another spark as the boy dropped his head and whispered. "Simon and Maia—"

"Oh, they're dead. Both of them," it said with Valentine's cavalier disregard. "How many have to die, Jace, before you see the truth?"

The boy's head ticked upward at his name, his face shadowed but his golden hair shining in the darkness. And the fear . . . the fear was still only a whisper being dangled out to Agramon like a bone to a starving mongrel. How could that be? Without moving, Agramon allowed his senses to move forward, as silent and invisible as a ghost, and encompass the boy. Search for what he could not feel. The boy jerked his head suddenly, but this one persisted. "We've had this conversation," the boy said irritably then. "You're wrong, Father. You might be right about demons, you might even be right about the Clave, but this is not the way—"

"I meant," Agramon grinned Valentine's cruel grin. "When will you see that you're_ just like me."_

Another spark this one fed off of hungrily.

"What?"

Agramon cocked his head to the side, staring at Jonathan but not Jonathan, as his invisible fingers continued to probe the boys mind, searching. The boy knew what this one meant—knew he feared it. But even now, it seemed the boy was fighting against his own thoughts. "You and I," this one began with assured confidence now, "we're alike. As you said to me before, you are what I made you to be, and I made you as a copy of myself. You have my arrogance. You have my courage. And you have that quality that causes others to give their lives for you without question."

Jonathan but not Jonathan took a step back, his eyes wide as he stared at the man he believed was his father. But it was not his father. Jonathan but not Jonathan shook his head hard. "I don't want people giving their lives for me." The boy had nearly shouted it, and this one fed on his crumbling resolve.

"No," Agramon took a step forward. "You do. You like knowing that Alec and Isabelle would die for you. That your sister would. The Inquisitor _did_ die for you, didn't she Jonathan? And you stood by and let her—"

"No!"

The boy did shout now, but this one did not stop. It could feel it now—his fear—like a faint pulse growing stronger. And this one was ravenous. "You're just like me—it isn't surprising, is it?" Agramon persisted. "We're father and son, why shouldn't we be alike?"

_"No!"_ The boy screamed, but Agramon knew that he couldn't deny his fear. And he moved forward again, his eyes narrowed and his hunger insatiable. Jonathan but not Jonathan shook his head viciously, his arm shooting into the shadows. Somewhere there was a snap of broken metal, but this one was not worried. Agramon knew he had the boy now. And he would be delicious. The boy's golden eyes met Valentine's black ones then.

_"I am not like you!"_

It happened fast. And then Agramon's mouth dropped open in shock as he stared down at the metal strut now sticking out of his chest. It had been quick—quicker than he had even seen his Master move. _But how!_ This was . . . not possible! This boy . . . Jonathan but not Jonathan . . . he had . . . Agramon fell to his knees with benign acceptance, his body beginning to collapse in on itself. He would not be upset. He was only dying in this world—free of his Master now. Though this one would miss the toothsome fear that Valentine allowed him. Agramon gave one last look to the boy. His hair a halo of heavenly gold, his body shaking, his eyes finally wide with the fear this one had tried so hard to coax from him. The boy who was Jonathan but not Jonathan. He would never be the right Jonathan, like Valentine wanted. The boy would only ever be himself. And knowing fear as this one did, Agramon's only regret was that he would not be around when Valentine realized that.

**#######**

How much time had passed?

There were screams.

Banging.

But he was unable to move.

Unable to talk.

He was hungry.

_He was dying_.

And it was possibly the slowest, most agonizing death Simon had ever had to endure. He should know—this would be the second time he died. And suddenly, unwillingly and rather ridiculously, given the circumstances, he thought of Darth Vader. Anakin Skywalker had died, only to be brought back as Darth Vader—where he would then die again to save his son. Simon had died, only to be brought back as well. And now he was dying again. Unlike Vader, however, _he_ had not given his life in any display of heroism. Stupid movies giving people false expectations.

But he had tried to be heroic, hadn't he? After Valentine had slit his throat and wrists, Simon had laid there, thinking he was dead—wondering why he wasn't dying, how long it actually took a vampire to die, and how weird it was to have his blood collected in cups. Seriously, what kind of daddy issues did you have to have to be capable of doing something like that? Not that it mattered. Simon had just about succumbed to the darkness that had been swirling at the corner of his mind when Maia's screams cut through him sharper than Valentine's blade had been. It pulled him back from the brink of death—not that Death hadn't been taking it's sweet time, anyway.

Weak and growing weaker, Simon had pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. He could feel the coagulated blood stiff on his shirt at the same time that he felt the blood spurting from his wrists, race down his fingers and drip to the floor. The splatters reminded Simon of those ink blot test. But still he forced himself on, slipping and sliding in his own pools of blood and forcing doors open with his bloody hands as he went. He only made it so far, getting through one more door before collapsing onto his side.

He had tried though.

He had spent the last of his energy trying so hard.

But he had lost too much blood.

He would take comfort in that, he supposed. That he had not given up by choice, but that the choice had regrettably been made for him. The pain itself was horrendous, like being burned alive. But since he was unable to do anything about it, Simon merely accepted it as he stared at the wall of the ship—stared at the rivets and the dark metal. He didn't want to, but he really had no choice. He couldn't move, couldn't shut his eyes. He could only feel the tortuous pangs of hunger while marveling at the clearness of his mind in his broken and unmoving body. And then his eyesight began to fade. This was it—he was going to die. Again. At least he wouldn't have to stare at the stupid wall anymore.

And then he was on his back.

Someone was above him, but Simon couldn't see who it was, couldn't react. His body was too heavy, too stiff, as if rigor mortis had already set in—_well that's not morbid at all._ He couldn't even shudder uncomfortably at the thought. He could barely feel the pressure of the strong hand on his shoulder now. At least . . . he _thought_ it was a hand. His mind was swimming in and out of consciousness now, but Simon could still hear the whisper of a breath being released, feel the current of wind in motion—_smell the pounding of blood through healthy veins_—as his eyelids were forced closed by this someone. Somewhere in the far reaches of his mind, Simon hoped it was not Clary. At the forefront of his mind, however, his vampire instincts were trying to take over. He could feel the sharp points of his canines as he pulled back his lips, the terrible hunger engulfing him. His eyes jerked beneath their lids. His body was on fire, the pain of needing to feed intense. Slowly, he looked up and saw the outline of a golden halo, a ridiculously beautiful face, golden eyes—it was Jace.

Simon rolled his eyes as far back as they could go.

_Of course,_ he tried to say but it only came out as a disgusted gurgle. He closed his lips tightly, wishing to never make that sound again. But then, he supposed he should be happy that it wasn't Clary who had found him—not that it would matter, she was probably there somewhere. She was always with Jace, one way or another. The bitter thought surprised Simon, and he marveled at his ability to still be jealous of Jace even though he was dying. Stupid, perfect Jace who couldn't get over his own sister—the thought was cut off as Simon felt himself being shifted again. He wished Jace would stop doing that. Just let him die peacefully. Wasn't that the whole point of R.I.P? Rest in _Peace._ Not that the narcissistic Shadowhunter would understand that.

And then his mind froze, the vampire in him clawing desperately at the prison of his unmoving body to get out. It was overwhelming him, and Simon—with whatever human emotion that was left in him—wondered what the asshat had done. He found out quickly.

He smelled the blood before he felt it drop against his mouth. If Simon could shake his head profusely, he would have. He would have screamed at Jace to get his blood away from him—that he would rather die than have Jace save him. But apparently Jace was a stubborn ass—something he must have forgotten while he was busy, you know, _actively dying._

"Drink my blood, idiot!" Jace hissed, almost as if he knew what Simon was thinking—how hard he was fighting against it. And Jace was nothing if not persistent. He pressed his blood-soaked wrists against Simon's lips.

_No._

_"Drink it!"_

_NO!_

But then he thought of Clary. She would never forgive him, would she? Because, of course, Jace would tell her how he had bravely tried saving her dear departed love—_while pushing his stupid blonde locks out of his face with his stupid sun kissed hands, no less_—and how Simon had refused to be saved. He was trapped in his body, trapped in his mind, and now trapped at the mercy of the only person he wished was on the _Normandy_ when it exploded—_without_ the possibility of being brought back as Shepard had been. So why was he even doing this? What did he have to prove? He knew Jace didn't like him, so it should have been easy for him to let Simon die. So why wouldn't he? The answer didn't so much come to Simon slowly, but rather beat him rapidly with an invisible truth stick. _Clary._ Jace was doing this for Clary. Because Jace loved her and she loved Simon. He could still feel Jace's wrists pushing against his lips, trying to pry them apart. He sighted internally. So would he—he would do this for Clary. Because he loved her and she loved Jace. Closing his eyes slowly, Simon allowed his lips to part and sunk his teeth into the tender flesh against his mouth—and drank.

He wanted it.

Needed it.

_He lost himself_.

With the reflexes allotted only to the children of the night, Simon grabbed his prey in a viselike grip—his fangs slipping deeper into his skin as he held him there. He fed with ravenous hunger and unquenchable thirst. At one point, the meal the wrist belonged to spoke, and Simon could hear the uncertainty in the boy's voice as he asked him to stop—begged almost. But Simon would not stop. He would drain him dry. And he would watch as the life left his prey. His eyes shot up to the boy—a pressing familiarity hitting him. He shook it away. All blood was familiar when it was asking to be freed.

"Simon?"

It was the last thing the boy said before Simon lunged at him with speed the wind would be jealous of. Pulling back his lips, Simon showed the terrible beauty of his fangs as he looked down at his prey now pinned under him. And then he was on him, his teeth sinking into the side of the the boy's neck. The boy's blood was sweeter here—sweeter than Simon had ever tasted. His victim fought back, of course; Simon could only imagine the pain he might be in. The fear of it alone cause the boy's velvet blood to race succulently beneath Simon's lips. But the pain and fear wouldn't last.

It wasn't long before the pushes became pulls—the rejection becoming consent.

That was the beauty of the drug in his venom. It made his prey much more obliging.

Strong fingers curled into Simon's hair, pressing him down harder—forcing his teeth to sink deeper. and he could feel the rapid beat of the Shadowhunter's heart against his own hollow chest as he moved against him. Simon would only give him what he wanted. Pushing firmly against the Nephilim's body, he could feel the boy's heart pounding against his own hollow chest as crimson silk ran delectably across his tongue. _Nephilim—Shadowhunter._ And that's when Simon felt the first pang of unease—something was wrong. He felt . . . _wrong._ What he was doing, it—wasn't natural. And yet it was, wasn't it? Simon was the hunter and the boy—the Shadowhunter—was his prey. _Shadowhunter—Jace._ The unease spread with each pull from his prey—_Jace's blood_—and bloomed in him, changed him, terrified him. But still, Simon drank. He couldn't stop. He needed this—_wanted it_. And Jace wanted it. Lost in the pleasure of the drug, Jace slid his hand gently down Simon's body, stopping at his waist and holding tight to him, his fingers tangling in his shirt—begging with his own body to be closer to the vampire. But it was wrong. This was Jace. And Simon knew Jace would never do that.

_I'm killing Jace._

NO!

Simon reared back, blood flying from his lips like glistening rubies, and stared down in horror at Jace, his hands flying to his mouth at the same moment his fangs snapped back into place. _What have I done?_ He was straddling Jace, who was gazing up at him with an expression that Simon was sure he never wanted to see again. At least not from Jace. And he could feel Jace's blood pulsing through his own body . . . feel as it revived him, healed him. But he had taken too much! Why hadn't the stupid Shadowhunter stopped him? Simon knew he could have! Jace was a trained Shadowhunter whereas Simon . . . well, he was a bumbling newborn vampire. And yet, he still had not stopped him.

"I could have killed you." The thought wormed its way into Simon's thoughts, paining him. He looked pleadingly down at Jace—who was becoming rapidly aware of what was going on around him now that Simon's fangs were no longer buried deep in his neck. And then his expressionless gold eyes met Simon's.

"I would have let you." He said it plainly, and Simon knew it was the truth. _Not helping._ He felt sick. And he was also still straddling Jace's waist, which made him feel uncomfortably intimate. Turning, Simon choked back on a wave of hysteria as he rolled off Jace and sunk to his knees. What would Clary think? What would she say? Simon wasn't an idiot when it came to how Clary felt about Jace, even if she didn't know or want to admit it to herself. And he knew that if he had . . . _if Jace had_ . . . Clary would never look at him the same way. And she would never forgive him.

Simon heard the shuffling movement of Jace behind him. A second later he saw him as he scooted back toward the wall and leaned his head against it. Simon looked at him—really looked at him. The torn clothes, the blood that coated him, the burnt skin . . . the gash across his wrist that was slowly knitting itself back together. Even with his healing rune, Simon could tell it would leave a scar. And then there was the blood that drained slowly from the two small holes in Jace's neck. Holes he had made—another permanent scar. Simon blanched.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He sounded pathetic, even to his own ears. But he meant it, too. He had not wanted to . . . he would have never . . . _I don't really wish you had been on the _Normandy_ when it crashed!_ He felt miserable, the pit of his stomach—_full of Jace's blood—Not helping!_—twisting. But Jace was already bouncing lightly to his feet as though nothing had happened.

"Don't apologize," Jace said flatly as he yanked Simon unceremoniously to his feet and pushed him forward. "Just get moving. Valentine has Clary and we haven't got much time."

**#######**

Jace watched as Simon looked around in shock, as if just now realizing that Clary wasn't there. What had he expected? That Clary would just miraculously be here? _You and me both, _he thought, tucking her stele back into his belt as the _iratze's_ he had drawn took effect. And then he turned and headed for the door at the opposite end of the room, swooping down to snatch up the metal strut he had used to kill Agramon as he went. He had done his good civil duty. He had kept Simon from dying—he paused, his hand on the doorknob. Turning around, he stared at the vampire.

Simon was still staring at him in shock and horror—something Jace really wished he'd stop doing. _Yes, you drank my blood. Yes, it had been slightly erotic. Yes, I _might_ have enjoyed it. No, I don't think of you that way. Yes, I know I'm hot—trust me. But you're just not my type. You're not related._ Not that he would admit any of this to anyone. Ever. It was bad enough having to admit his own twisted desires to himself without sharing them with the vampire. Instead, he snapped, "Are you coming?"

Simon, pulling himself together quickly, nodded. Jace pulled open the door.

Together, and with an irritating sense of camaraderie that Jace was beginning to regret, they moved through the ship. Jace filled Simon in on what had transpired after he and Maia were taken—the important parts anyway—and Simon told Jace his own version. He spoke of the struggle at his house, waking up in the ship, having his throat and wrists cut, his blood being collected . . . everything. He spared no detail, and it all came back to his father. Not that Jace needed to be told that. He didn't need to hear Valentine's name to know that this—_all of this_—was his father's fault. Or that it always would be . . . in some way or another. He bit the inside of his cheek. But when Jace failed to respond, Simon switched tactics and began making small talk about random mundane shit. And dear _God,_ how Jace wished the vampire would shut his mouth. He also wondered if he had discovered Simon's nervous tick. Reaching a fork and turning left, Jace tried to tune him out . . . though not before making a mental note to avoid swimming in anything referred to as a dead pool. No part of that sounded healthy.

The ship really was cavernous. And dark. And cold. And it contained many passages that left nothing to the imagination. As they continued down, they both lapsed into silence and Jace found himself thinking about Agramon. He had killed The Fear demon. The Fearless rune had worked. He was sure Clary would be excited to hear that, and part of him couldn't wait to tell her. But the more he thought of Agramon disguised as his father, the deeper his frown became. He had been so sure that it had been his father, Valentine, before becoming sure that it wasn't. But now . . . now he thought that he should have known from the very beginning that it wasn't. _For starters,_ Jace thought irritably, _it had called me Jace_—_something I should have noticed, seeing as how my father only ever calls me Jonathan. And it had called my sister_—his heart twisted painfully—_Clary, not Clarissa._ These seemed now, though stupidly not at the time, as huge red flags.

_Major red flags._

_Flying, monstrous, red flags._

"Yeah I get it!" Simon said suddenly, forcing Jace to blink at him with bewilderment. "Look, it was a demon—a Greater demon at that. It may not have had Jedi mind tricks on it's side, but . . . oh wait, yeah it did. You did well,_ young_ _Padawan."_

_What the hell did you just call me?_ Jace cocked a brow. _That better not have been . . ._ the thought drifted away slowly as he realized with horror that he had been speaking out loud. And to Simon, of all people! The vampire who may or may not have insulted him just now. But even then, Jace knew that being called a _Panda Wan_ had not been meant as an insult, but a compliment. Jace sighed. Things really were getting weird. But then, maybe the blood running through the vampire—_my blood_—had brought about some sort of sentimentality from the bloodsucker. He wished he would keep it to himself.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Jace pressed on while Simon continued jabbering behind him. And then there was nowhere to go. _What the fuck? What were they supposed to—_

"So are we taking the red pill, then?" Simon asked suddenly. "Seeing how far down the rabbit hole goes?"

_Rabbit hole? What rabbit _. . . and what was this red pill he was talking about? Jace didn't have any red pills that he was aware of, and he wondered if this was some new vampire thing that he didn't know about—which would make sense if the pill was red. Looking at Simon, Jace wasn't about to admit that the vampire might have knowledge of something he didn't. Instead, he shook his hair out of his face asking, "Did you get dropped on your head as a child?"

Simon only smiled, shuffling silently. _R__eally? A smile? No witty retort? No male bravado?_ And Jace was surprised by how much he had come to rely on that. With everything in his life changing around him; Simon's witty, angry, and sarcastic remarks were the only thing that had remained consistent for—Jace savagely sunk he teeth into the flesh of his mouth, effectively cutting off the thought. _B__y the Angel, you will never think of that_ again, he commanded himself, feeling truly awkward as he looked at the stupid boy he had loathed for so long. He was still shifting around._ Why_ was he still shifting around? Jace dropped his eyes to Simon's fee—_oh. _The vampire was tapping his foot softly against a trapdoor, his words from earlier echoing in Jace's head_. Ah. A rabbit hole. I'm an idiot . . . _though he was definitely not about to admit that. Especially because he still didn't understand the whole "red pill" thing. He quickly busied himself with the panel.

Leaning down, he stared at the latch. It was unlocked—which made it easier, at least—but it also opened downward; which meant they had just lost what element of surprise they may have had. They would have to be quick. Pressing one finger to his lips, Jace used his other hand to point at himself, the trapdoor; at Simon, and then again at the trapdoor. The instructions were simple. _I_ _go first, and then you. And don't fuck this up_. Simon, seeming to understand, raised his hand to give him a thumbs up before thinking better of it and smoothly transitioning it from his thumb to his middle finger with a grin. Jace almost laughed. Almost.

With his heart pounding, Jace sprung the latch and dropped through the trapdoor and into the darkness before it had finished swinging open all the way. His descent was silent as he landing nimbly and elegantly on his feet, his metal strut still in his hand. He felt her presence before he saw her. His head turned involuntarily as if someone had grabbed him by the chin, and he was only vaguely aware of Simon botching his own landing behind him.

Jace was looking into the Idris meadows he knew only too well now—getting lost in them as if nothing else existed. _Clary . . . she was here_, the overwhelming shock and relief on her face was palpable. But then Jace's night-vision Mark adjusted to the new light density and he saw the scene in front of him with vivid clarity—Clary standing with her back against a wall and his father holding the Soul Sword—Maellartach—against the hollow of her throat. But then Clary's eyes slipped past him, focusing on the vampire behind Jace. She screamed.

_"Simon!"_

Even though it had not been _his_ name she had cried out, the look of elation on Clary's face as she stared at Simon with tears of joy steaming down her cheeks, gave Jace such an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. She had been so sure that he would find and save Simon, even though he had not been so sure of it himself. But he had succeeded. He had not failed her. Jace only ever wanted her to be happy, even if that happiness came in the form of an annoying vampire. And for the first time since everything had happened, Jace didn't feel the pangs of jealousy he had grown so used to around them.

It did nothing to dampen the anger he felt toward Valentine, however.

Jace's golden eyes shot to his father, who had he spun in surprise to face them when Clary screamed, before whiplashing back to Clary; his heart constricting as terror doused him in ice water. Without the sharp end of the Sword holding her in place, she had fallen to her knees, shivering uncontrollably as she raised her hands to her face. And that was when Jace saw that her fingers—fingers so gentle, they could dance across paper with same the graceful lithe of a ballerina—were showing signs of frostbite. She still wore his Jacket, but the damage that had been done to it was not keeping her warm. Not that it mattered . . . his jacket had nothing to do with whatever was causing her to freeze like that. He glared up at his father, his grip on the metal strut tightening.

"What did you do to her?"

Valentine raised a brow lazily, having already recovered from his initial shock at their arrival. He seemed merely amused with the change of events, now. "Nothing," he said._"Yet."_ And Jace's heart dropped at the familiar words, and the threatening tone of his father's voice. _Nothing she can't recover from._ He bit the inside of his cheek as the words rebounded in his head. The Fear demon had said them while pretending to be his father, and now his real father . . . Jace shook his head. "I'm the one who should be asking you what _you've_ done, Jonathan," Valentine continued, his tone neutral as his eyes slipped past his son and fell on Simon with disgust. "Why is it still alive? Revenants can regenerate, but not with such little blood in them."

Jace would be more than happy to tell him. He _wanted_ to tell him—_wanted _to see the look on his father's face when he heard how his son had kept a downworlder from dying. _Oh, you'll absolutely love this, father._ But before Jace could open his mouth, Simon spoke from behind him.

"You mean me?" His voice was strangely harder—older—as he stared down the man who had nearly succeeded in killing him. And then with the quickness and finesse of a feline stalking its prey, the vampire moved to stand next to Jace. But his eyes . . . they never left Valentine. Crossing his arms, Simon cocked his head with a snap. His eyes were dark. "Oh, that's right, you left me for dead. Well, dead-_er._

Jace bit the inside of his cheek. He couldn't blame Simon for his anger—even knew it was justified. But still, _"Shut up!" _he spit irritably at the vampire. He couldn't help it. He had already been denied so many pleasures as of late, he absolutely _refused_ to be denied another one. And he could assure everyone—pissing off his father would be an amazingly wonderful pleasure right about now. So when Simon's hunter eyes flashed dangerously to him, Jace simply smiled back in response. "Let me answer this." The vampire nodded mutely and Jace turned back toward his father, turning the metal strut comfortably in his hands. "I let Simon drink my blood so he wouldn't die."

Jace's voice had been as smooth and as calm as a summer breeze, and Valentine's severe face creased as he looked hard at his son; his lips a thin razor and his black eyes like burning coals. He could almost see his father mentally breaking down his words—checking to see if he could have mistaken their meaning—before piecing them back together again and looking genuinely sad and disappointed with the results. Jace knew that others might even think he was being sincere. Not him, though. _You can't fool me, father. _He knew better than that. Valentine had never been, nor ever would be, the type of parent who said things like, '_I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed.' _Because he _was_ mad. He was _always_ mad. _Always_. Jace had spent ten years of his life being molded and honed and shaped by this man. Ten years of being handed down punishments no child should ever be forced to endure, for committing the smallest of gaffes. And all in the name of becoming a son worthy enough of his father. But he learned from the punishments, hadn't he? Maybe much more than Valentine had wanted. Because when Jace looked at him now, he knew his father wasn't disappointed. He was utterly _disgusted_. And he wasn't sad. He was unforgivingly _furious_.

"You _willingly_ let a vampire drink your blood?" _Oh yes, father, and I liked it,_ he thought unabashedly, knowing that his father would see the truth in his eyes. Valentine looked away, staring instead at Simon—the hatred in his eyes palpable, and Jace followed his gaze. The vampire—_Simon_—he was Clary's best friend . . . _possibly her boyfriend_ . . . and the bane of his existence.

He had the only thing Jace desperately wanted with all of his heart.

And he hated Simon for that.

But he also made Clary happy, for which Jace was grateful.

"Yes."

_And I'd do it again_.

Valentine rounded on him, his onyx eyes gleaming and his tone intense. "You have no idea what you've done, Jonathan . . . no idea."

But Jace knew more than his father realized. And the only thing he ever needed to know, was the one thing Valentine never taught him. All lives matter. Simon's life mattered—even if he was a whiny little bitch sometimes. When Jace spoke, it was with conviction. "I saved a life," he said, staring at his father like it were the most obvious thing in the world. Because it was. "One that you tried to take. I know that much."

"Not a human life," his father admonished without missing a beat, waving his hand absently at Simon as if he were a piece of trash—which was exactly how Valentine saw him, and Jace felt a sudden, ridiculous surge of protection for the stupid vampire—something that caught even himself off guard. A possible side effect from being bitten, he wondered as his father continued. "You resurrected a monster that will only kill to feed again. His kind are always hungry—"

"I'm hungry right now," Simon grinned menacingly, his fangs bared. Jace felt a slight pang of longing, but he shook it away as the vampire spoke again. "I wouldn't mind a little more blood. Of course, your blood would probably choke me, you poisonous piece of shit."

But Valentine had already started laughing loud, drowning out the derogatory word for anyone who wasn't nearby, with his false mirth. When the laughter died, he glared at Simon dangerously—challengingly. "I'd like to see you try it, revenant," he coaxed arrogantly. "When the Soul-Sword cuts you, you will burn as you die."

Crossing his arms, the metal strut pressing against his ribs, Jace's eyes flashed to the Sword that his father held tight in his grip. Valentine had obtained the blood of Lilith's Children, the blood of the Fair Folk, and the blood of the Night Children. But Jace had not seen Maia, so had his father . . . was it possible . . .? And then his eyes slid to Clary—_Did he get the blood from the Child of the Moon?_—who had been watching all of this with rapt attention. As her emerald orbs met his golden ones, they widened a fraction with the understanding of his unasked question. And then the words were rushing out of her mouth. "The Sword isn't turned," she said quickly, fervently. "Not quite. He didn't get Maia's blood so he didn't finish the ceremony—"

Valentine turned to glare at Clary, his smile terrible, and Jace's stomach twisted. A split second later, the hilt of the Soul Sword lashed out and sent Clary careening with painful speed into the bulkhead. Jace had nearly cried out, but managed to chomp down on his cheek to keep from doing so. Rage. That's all he felt now when he looked at his father. And his crossed arms went rigid against his body, his grip on the ships broken shard painful as he restrained himself from lashing out. _Striking back at someone who had the upper hand was foolish at best, deadly at worst._ His father taught him that. And since Valentine had the Mortal Sword and the Mortal Cup—he had the upper hand.

Something Simon was now learning.

The vampire stumbled back, hitting the floor hard, as he scrambled away from the arch of blazing fire Valentine had brought forth with Maellartach. He had tried to run to Clary after she had been sent flying, but right now . . . the only way they were going to reach her was with Valentine's permission. Jace's fists clenched and unclenched trying desperately to keep his face void of the emotions he felt slamming into him._ Do not think as your enemy thinks—for that is the hubris of man. Think as your enemy does not, for only then can you overcome._ Uncrossing his arms, Jace's arm pressed against Clary's stele.

Valentine's eyes blazed down at Simon, the Sword bright in his hands as he circled the vampire slowly. And his expression didn't change when he shifted his attention to his son. Jace was reminded of a vulture. "If you kill the revenant now, you can still undo what you've done."

_What I've done?_ Jace very nearly choked. He wanted to scream and shout and destroy, and—taking a slow calming breath, he looked at Clary. Beautiful Clary, who was everything good in his world. Clary, who had faith in Jace even when he had no faith in himself. He drew strength from her, speaking as he exhaled. "No."

And yet his father persisted softly, his voice a feather made from daggers. "Just take the weapon you hold in your hand, and drive it though his heart." Valentine had a way about him that made people want to follow him, Luke's voice echoed faintly in Jace's mind. "One simple motion. Nothing you haven't done before."

_Because of you._ Jace's eyes were on Valentine with lightning speed. _Everything I have ever done . . . was because of you._ He loved him—he feared him. And Valentine—he had wanted his son to fear him growing up, demanded it with his abuse disguised as love. A simple treat for a job well done, but a punishment fit for hell over the slightest mistake. Over the past seven years, Jace had come to see a father's love, though—saw it with Robert and his children, and now with Luke and Clary—and it was nothing like he had been raised to believe. Most kids never grew up being terrified of their father's wrath. And yet still . . . Jace loved him. _When will you see that you are just like me._ "I saw Agramon," he said suddenly, his voice as casual as if he'd mentioned running into an old friend. "It had your face"

It was clear that Jace had caught Valentine off guard with this. His father hesitated, the soul sword dropping an inch, before he began pacing. "You saw Agramon?" The disbelief was clear. "And you lived?"

Jace's gaze was level. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised that his father was more shocked by the fact that Jace was still alive after running into Agramon, rather that the fact that the demon had taken his form. This was the same man, after all, who had refused to trade the Mortal Instruments in exchange for his son's life. Which was why Jace vindicated when saying, "I killed it."

"You killed the Demon of Fear—?" Valentine's voice was a disbelieving whisper—but Jace just stared at him blankly, giving nothing away, as he watched his father collecting himself "—but you wont kill a single vampire? Not even at my order?"

"He's a vampire, that's true." And Jace could hear the ice that lined his calm tone. "But his name is Simon." He could feel all eyes on him now—Simon's shocked, Clary's burning, and his father's . . . like a cobra ready to strike. Valentine had stopped pacing and stared hard at Jace, the Soul Sword blazing under his tightened grip.

And then his father swallowed, his demeanor softening though his eyes still raged. "I take it, then," his voice was calm, but Jace knew it was a forced calm, "that you haven't changed your mind? What you told me when you came to me before, that was your final word, or do you regret having disobeyed me?"

Do you regret failing me? Jace went rigid at unasked for thought, his arms ramrod straight down his side. The metal strut he still held, was digging into his left side while his opposite arm pressed the stele in his belt into his right side. Clary's stele—Clary, who had a gift with runes. Did you know that, father? Jace swallowed, glaring at Valentine. The man he loved and hated and feared. Do you know what you made her capable of? His father didn't look away, but held Jace's eyes captive—dissected the conflicting emotions he must have seen in them. And Jace used it to his advantage. With the fluidity of a river and the speed of the wind, Jace slid his right hand up his thigh, to his belt and detached the stele quickly with a flick of his wrist. And then his hand was back at his side, turned to hide the object, as he took a breath.

"Yes," he said finally with a whisper of false sincerity, his eyes having never left his father. "I regret having disobeyed you." And he heard a soft groan at the same moment that he saw the victory blazing across Valentine's face.

"Jonathan—"

"Especially," Jace spoke over him. "Since I plan to do it again." He sent the stele flying, watching in slow motion as it soared through the air toward Clary, who was staring at it in surprise and then understanding. When it hit the ground and rolled, she gasped and flung herself forward to retrieve it. There was no hesitation as she scooped it up, no fear in her emerald eyes as she locked onto Jace. Next to him, he heard his father laughing. Heard him ridiculing the stele. But Jace didn't look away from Clary, nodding ever so slightly. Do it, the word was soft and caressing in his mind. Show him.

Jace heard Valentine's voice trail off, the laughter gone, as he stared from his son to his daughter. But Clary wasn't paying attention; she threw herself at the bulkhead. You can do this. Valentine took a step toward her—calling to her, telling her to stop—before being brought up short with shock. Jace couldn't blame him, the rune Clary drew began to glow brightly, lighting the dark hull—and then brighter still. Jace became enraptured by the brilliance of it and couldn't look away, even as it stung his eyes. And then he was left blinking as the blazing light was cut off sharply, leaving behind the charred remains of the rune that had been burned into the ship. A rune that was both new and yet familiar to him. And then Clary fell back, looking utterly exhausted as her stele fell from her icy fingers. It were as though what she had done had taken a piece of her. The very thought sent Jace's heart twisting and silent vibrations filling his body.

"What does it say?" Simon asked, breaking the silence, and Jace was surprised to see the vampire standing next to him. He hadn't seen him get up.

But it was Valentine who answered. "It says," he took a step forward, his eyes narrowed. He was just as enraptured by the rune, it would seem. _"'Mene mene tekel upharsin.'"_

Clary began shaking her head the moment Valentine opened his mouth, her eyes alight with emerald fires despite her exhaustion as she got heavily to her feet. The vibration coursing Jace's veins grew stronger. "That's not what it says," she said, her voice tired but unwavering as she glared at his father. "It says open."

The last thing Jace heard was his father saying Clary's name, before the vibration that he had thought was deep inside him, jarring his thoughts and emotions, exploded around him. The screaming metal was painful in his ears, and Jace had to duck as rivets began to fire at him like bullets. The ships walls were ripping apart. He could hear his father shouting and looked up as Valentine lunged at Clary. But Clary was already moving away, running toward Jace. It was enough to propel him into motion. Dropping the ship piece, he scrambled desperately forward just as the bulkhead split and water came crashing in. She fell to her knees.

"Clary!" But it was too late, an unforgiving jet of water was already pulling her back, rolling her around, though she was fighting hard against the current. No, no, no, no . . . Jace pushed toward her, his own clothes sopping with the freezing ocean water, as the ship continued to screech and break apart beneath him, lurching forward at an angle. "Clary!"

_"JACE!"_

The terror in her voice made his blood run cold, fear pounding in his ears. Their eyes locked. They were his home, those eyes. They were his life. And then Jace watched, unable to do anything, as his home slipped away from him and out of the ship. NO! He wouldn't lose her . . . he— _"CLARY!"_

_She has to be okay . . . she has to . . . she can swim. She's a Shadowhunter._ With a surge of speed, Jace flew toward the rushing water, his eyes taking in everything—the screaming metal, the sudden acrid smoke, the night sky, the churning water, his father slipping away, and Simon curled in a corner watching the water with fear. _Shit!_ Jace skidded to a halt. Running rivers were considered pure. He had not went through the process of saving the vampire's ass only to have him die now! But—he stared at the large hole that had sucked Clary out of the ship. It was getting larger. _She's okay. I know she'll be okay_ . . . Sucking in his breath, he was on Simon in seconds, jerking him up by his shirt. There had to be a way to get him off the boat. _Because all ships come with a vampire escape plan in the event of sudden combustion,_ Jace thought sardonically just as his gaze fell on a large piece of metal floating a few yards away.

"Well, that's lucky," he mumbled flatly. And then his eyes narrowed, really taking in the distance of it. Clary had the gift of words—creating runes. Jace, on the other hand, had shown a prowess for performing extraordinary physical feats. And he was about to try again. "Right, then," he said, his adrenaline shooting through his veins as he looked at Simon speculatively, sizing him up. "I suggest you use those freaky vampire claws of yours to keep you from sliding."

"What are you talking about—?"

Simon didn't get to finish as Jace had chosen that moment to grab him and send him sailing through the air toward the floating piece of metal. Simon let out a noise that closely resembled a terrified cat, and Jace watched with bated breath as the vampire landed with a thunk and began to slide—_stop, stop, stop_. Even from here, Jace could hear the sound of metal screeching like nails against a chalkboard. Simon looked up, having stopped right on the edge, and waved—his expression that of someone who was surprised to be alive.

Jace flipped him off and dived into the water just as the upper decks of the ship crashed down.

_She's okay . . . she's okay._ He kept his eyes open in the dark river, the salt burning only for a minute as he swept them along river bed. When he came up for air, he tread the water looking for Clary's bobbing head. _She has to be okay._ The thought persisted. She hadn't been sucked under, just out of the ship, and Jace had no reason to believe she wasn't good swimmer.

There was a lot of shouting around him, and he noticed immediately that he wasn't the only Shadowhunter taking a swim; though some Shadowhunters, it seemed, were being carried by—Jace's eyes narrowed. _So nice of you to show up, after all,_ he thought both with irritation and relief as he turned away from the water nixies. Up ahead a Clave boat was bathed in the bright glow of many witchlight stones, and Jace was able to make out with relief, Alec, as the boat raced across the water. No one else could possibly have posture that stiff. On another boat he saw Maryse and Isabelle bending over Robert—he hoped he wasn't injured. He even found Maia on one of the boats, looking uncomfortable as Shadowhunters surrounded her.

But what he didn't see, was the splash of red he was looking for. And Jace felt an icy chill that had nothing to do with the freezing ocean water, the longer he searched. He really began to panic when he found Luke's floating truck. Not only was it not where he remembered it being, but Luke and Simon were standing in the back, staring at him. And she wasn't with them. _She wasn't_—understanding coupled with hysteria struck Jace's heart.

Before he could act on it, the surface of the water exploded upward not far from him. A nixie of terrible beauty, her hair the color of sunset, had practically jumped out of the water in her haste to reach the surface. She cradled something in her arms—_someone._ Someone limp and unmoving. _"Clary!"_

Jace's pulse raced as he propelled himself forward, his mind filled with Clary—which was why he was caught off guard when he was suddenly jerked below the water line. He barely managed to get air in his lungs before going under. His ankle was tangled in something and Jace jerked his leg hard trying to get free of whatever had snared him. But it was unrelenting. Bending down, he pulled his witchlight rune-stone out of his pocket, squeezed it, and—_of course._ It was a drax demon. Recovering quickly and keeping his calm, he grappled at his belt before remembering he didn't have anymore weapons. Shit. His lungs were beginning to burn. He needed air. He pulled and clawed at the tentacle holding him—tried to pry himself free while his lungs spasmed. The rim of his vision was becoming black. It was then that he saw the bluish face—the red hair. He thought for a second he might be dreaming, but the nixie pulled a deadly looking coral knife out of a hidden sheath, and Jace knew it was real. He watched as the water faerie stabbed the drax demon, who attempted to cry out in pain and ended up swallowing water instead. The Nixie didn't stop there, darting easily out of the demon's striking range before plunging her knife into it's flesh with beautiful ferocity, over and over again.

It was a minute before Jace realized he was free.

His lungs were searing.

And then the nixie was there, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him back up toward the surface. The pace with which she could swim, even while carrying someone, was dizzying. But the thought was short-lived as his head broke the surface and freezing wind assaulted his face. Jace gasped, his body convulsing and his lungs trying to drag in air, as the nixie hauled him across the glassy surface of the river.

"Jace!"

It was Alec. A second later, Jace was hoisted up onto a boat. He rolled onto his side, coughing terribly as his body continued to suck in the breaths of air it had been momentarily denied. His clothes were waterlogged once more—not that he really had much of a shirt left anyway. It was in tattered frays of cloth—and his body ached. With each cough, Jace felt a strong hand slapping his back hard. He wasn't sure if he was grateful for it or not. Somewhere behind him, Alec whispered and then pressed the end of a stele against Jace's skin. Jace moaned at the pleasurable heat. And then things began to hit him with clarity. The ship—was just about gone, and there was a fire everywhere. It was even burning on top of the water. He looked up to meet the blue eyes of his _parabatai_.

Alec was watching him, his lips razor thin and his hair a strange grey-white. Probably from the ashes that were raining down upon them. "What happened, Jace?" he asked, and Jace looked out over the side of the boat.

"Clary . . . she—" Jace's eyes went wide. "I have to get to her! I have to . . ."

Alec stared at Jace, his blue eyes the only thing of color around them, and nodded. Getting to his feet, his brother stepped quickly across the boat and whispered something to a cloaked Shadowhunter, who turned the boat around irritably. Alec came back and took a seat next to Jace. "So, why don't you tell me what happened below the ship before it was destroyed, and I'll tell you what happened afterwords?"

Jace nodded. And then he told Alec everything that had happened after he was thrown from the ship. He told him about the Fear rune and about Agramon. He left out some details about bringing Simon back though, as Alec had become instantly concerned that Jace might have ingested some blood—something they argued about before Jace finally agreed to drink some holy water for 'safety measures'. And then he told him about Valentine, Clary, and their standoff. He found himself hesitating, however, when it came to telling his brother about the rune she used to annihilate the ship. He wasn't sure why, but something told him he shouldn't mention it. Not yet.

"I'm not sure what happened," Jace found himself saying then. "He messed up the Infernal Conversion somehow—maybe he forgot he still needed Maia . . . but the next thing we knew, the ship was coming down.

Alec grunted when he was done, but didn't question it. And then he was going into how Magnus had pulled him out of the water, how from there he had helped the warlock retain some of his strength to keep the wards stripped. Jace had the sneaking suspicion that, like himself, Alec was deliberately leaving something out. He didn't press it. Instead he listened as Alec talked about the destruction of the ship, how the fey had arrived and began pulling Shadowhunters out of the water. Some of the nixies had even taken it upon themselves to assist the demons that had fallen into the river with drowning. Not long after that, Luke had arrived back at the truck and sent Alec and Magnus out to help—Magnus with the injured and Alec with the recovery of the Mortal Instruments. They had not been successful yet. Jace knew they wouldn't be.

And then Alec mentioned Malik . . . the news of his death hitting Jace harder than he had thought it would. Malik had been the first Shadowhunter he had ever met after his father faked his own death. And Jace would always remember how Malik's eyes had crinkled kindly at his terrified ten year old self. Or how he had consoled and reassured Jace when he stood on the pier, staring at the ship that would take him to New York.

Shaking the thought away and biting the inside of his cheek, Jace looked out over the side of the boat. Why weren't they there yet? He was getting impatient. Up ahead, as if hearing his unasked question, the Shadowhunter cussed about the visibility of the ash filled sky before turning the boat hard. _Son of a bitch._ How did you possibly make a wrong turn on what should have been a straight line? Getting to his feet, Jace began pacing along the wooden plank seats. Alec got to his feet, too. Reaching a hand up, he grabbed Jace's wrist. "She'll be okay."

Jace nodded, but said nothing as the feeling in the pit of his stomach got worse. It seemed to take forever before they pulled up next to the truck and—_NO_. Jace froze as his heart was ripped from his body. _Please, God_ . . . Luke was kneeling over Clary, his head in his hands, and Jace took a step back, stumbling into Alec. Faintly he tasted blood in his mouth as he shook his head violently, but he wasn't sure where it had come from. _Not her_. And yet, he could see her so clearly lying there, pale and unmoving. _Not her_. He felt as Alec grabbed him by the shoulders, from behind. He may have even been speaking, not that Jace heard him.

He only saw Clary.

_Not her . . ._

He felt lost.

_Do not go where I cannot follow you . . ._

He felt trapped.

_I have to get out of . . ._

He was dying.

_NOT HER.  
><em>

He would have fallen to his knees if Alec had not wrapped an arm across his chest, holding Jace against him. Dropping his head forward, he vaguely noticed the black soot that fell from his hair. People were saying his name, and someone had moved in front of him. But he didn't care who it was. Nothing mattered. She's gone. His throat seized, his fists clenching and unclenching. _She's gone, she's gone, she's gone!_ He could feel his heart spitting apart and found himself bargaining with God, the Angel, anyone! _Not her, not her, NOT . . .  
><em>

"JACE."

Simon was looking at him, only inches from his face. The vampire seemed paler than usual and his eyes were wide with uncertainty as he stared at Jace. His lips were moving, but the blood in Jace's ears made it impossible to hear what he was saying. He could only stare as his mind burned with crimson and emeralds. He couldn't feel his body anymore, though he assumed Alec was still holding to it. Simon frowned and shook his head, flinging ash from his hair.

"LISTEN TO WHAT I AM SAYING, YOU DUMB ASS. CLARY IS ALIVE."

Jace blinked. What had he said? _But . . . how?_ He didn't dare believe it. All the same, he could feel his heart as it kick-started with hope. His golden eyes slid past Simon toward the bed of the truck, resting on Luke. The man wolf had been watching Jace curiously, a frown tugging at his lips, but now he gave an exhausted smile. Jace pressed back against Alec, his eyes wide with shock. Reaching up, he tapped his brother's arm lightly, and Alec let him go—though Jace noticed he stayed close by. Pushing Simon aside none to gently, he strode quickly to Clary's side.

"She looks—" His voice cracked.

"I know. But that's because she's still passed out." Simon said softly behind him. "Luke got her to cough up the water, though, after giving her CPR. I was no help cause, you know, I don't exactly have a breath to give." At that, Simon sounded bitter. Jace looked at Clary. Her usually light red curls were wet, maroon, straight, and plastered to her face. He didn't like it.

"She's breathing." It was Luke, and Jace looked up to see him squeezing Simon's shoulder reassuringly. "That's what matters."

At his words, Jace felt such an overwhelming and dizzying rush of relief. But still, she looked—stop thinking that! Jace jumped to his feet and made it half way through the broken cab, toward the hood of the truck, before he stopped and looked back at Alec apologetically. _I can't be around her. I cant . . . just in case. I can handle Malik and the Inquisitor dying . . . but I can't handle her . . ._ Alec said nothing, just nodded as if he had heard Jace. Crossing the hood and taking a seat at the very front of the truck, he heard Alec, Luke, and Simon speaking in a low whisper behind him. Which probably meant they were talking about him.

Looking out over the river, he stared at the barrage of Clave boats—each twinkling with witchlight like stars. _Where are you father?_ Jace found himself wondering._ Do one of those boats not belong to the Clave? Because make no mistake . . . I know you're out there._ Taking a deep breath, and then coughing on the ashes that were trying to white out any color that might be left in the world, Jace leaned back on his hands. He thought of Clary, his father, Maryse. It was a little while later that Alec rode by on the boat, calling out was he went, something about going back to assist. Jace waved.

"You know, it's funny." It was Simon. Startled, Jace turned to look the vampire, watching as he took a seat next to him. For once, he didn't mind, and he returned his gaze to the river. "I've always been in love with Clary," Simon said, sounding almost surprised at the admittance. Or maybe it was just because he was admitting it to Jace—not that it stopped him from continuing. "From the very first time I met her, I mean . . . how could you not be?" _How indeed?_ "She never had siblings, and Jocelyn was such an overbearing mother at times—though, I guess I can see why now—but still, it drove Clary nuts to a nearly reckless degree. So I took it upon myself to take care of her. Protect her. With the hopes that maybe, someday, she would really see me. But then you came along and—"

"Showed her she really did have a brother?" Jace asked, unable to hide both the bitterness and exhaustion.

"—showed me that _I was_ her brother." Simon finished. "That I always have been. This whole time. I hate you for that, you know."

Jace smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I know."

"She loves me like she should love you," Simon sighed. "And she loves you like—" Jace tensed, having already heard this once before, and unsure he wanted to hear it again. It hadn't gone well when it had come from Clary, and he was sure it would be no different coming from the vampire. But Simon only shook his head, his next words barely audible. "I don't know."

They both lapsed into silence then, staring out at the ash filled sky and what was left of the burning ship. Jace searched the boats and the water, however vaguely, for a shock of white hair, wondering where his father might have gone. He knew he wasn't dead . . . but that didn't mean he couldn't hope—Jace bit the inside of his cheek, wondering if that's really what he hoped for. He didn't know. Next to him, Simon talked idly about how Luke had driven—was that the right word?—the truck out to pick him up after he escaped the ship, and what he had subsequently learned. Some of it, Jace had already heard from Alec. Most surprising, though, was how Luke had not taken the fact that it was Clary's rune that destroyed the ship, all that well. But Jace didn't press Simon too explain. He didn't need to, because he already knew why Luke wasn't handling that piece of information well. It was the same reason Jace wasn't.

Without warning, Simon jumped lithely to his feet. "Well, I'll let you be alone." When Jace looked up at him surprised, he smiled. "Unless you want a hug? We could hug it out."

Jace cocked a brow, a look of horror on his face. "I'll pass."

Simon chuckled, but Jace noticed the laughter didn't reach his eyes either. And then he left. Jace continued sitting there, watching the boats as they glowed under the witchlight in a black and white world. The ashes from the destroyed ship, which was now completely gone, had gotten heavier, blanketing everything. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Simon shine a beam of light at Luke's face, sending the pack leader ducking out of the way. And we have flashlights and the _aquatruck._ Jace rolled his eyes, pulling his own witchlight from his pocket and sending ash scattering across the hood.

"Where's Jace?"

Jace's head snapped to the back of the truck like a rapidly fired arrow. That was her voice. Scrambling to his feet he moved quickly across the hood, leaping into the damaged cab just as she spoke again.

"He's all right, isn't he?"

His heart twisted painfully at the panic in her tone. "I'm here," he called out, never wanting to make her feel that way. And then he was through the cab, dropping to her side. "I'm sorry, I should have been here when you woke up. It's just . . ." Jace heard the hitch in his tone and closed his eyes. _I thought I had lost you. I thought . . ._

"It's just what?" He heard Clary breathe. Jace looked up from under his lashes, meeting her eyes—dazzling emeralds inside an Escher masterpiece. But no words would come out. How could he explain to her what thinking she was dead felt like? Or how it had nearly destroyed him. He couldn't.

"He thought you were dead too." Luke said for him, though not unkindly. Jace still blanched. The pack leader bounded to his feet and stared out over the water just as Clary's eyes widened at Jace.

"Dead too? Who else—" She dropped back down suddenly, hugging herself tightly and crying out in pain. Jace bit the inside of his cheek, his blood pulsing as her pain tortured him, and fumbled quickly for his stele.

"Hold still, Clary." Taking her arm in his, he grimaced at how cold she felt. She was shivering, but her eyes were trying to hide her discomfort. _You're not fooling anyone._ Jace's hand was steady and tender as he pressed the tip of the stele expertly against her skin. He had barely done a few lines of the Healing Rune when Clary sat up, watching as he Marked her. He could hear her breathing, smell the salt water and lavender in her hair. When he was done, he stared at the _iratze_ running his thumb lightly across it.

"What happened?" asked Clary, and Jace, who was still tracing the rune on her skin with his finger, looked up. She was looking out at the river. "Was there a fire?" _A fire? A fire—sure, you could say that. You could also say that you created a rune that completely disintegrated a ship in an eternal blaze of glory._

Dropping his hand, Jace looked back toward Luke, who was still looking out at the other boats, and remembered what Simon had told him. "Yes," he said softly, then. "Valentine's ship burned to the waterline. There's nothing left."

Clary's eyes popped open, her mouth forming a small 'o' and turning to look at Simon. "Where are Isabelle and Alec?"

Simon smiled weakly. "They're on one of the other Shadowhunter boats. They're fine."

But she was already twisting to see into the cab. "And Magnus?"

"He was needed to tend to some of the more badly wounded Shadowhunters." Luke crossed his arms, turning toward Clary. And Jace flinched back from the expression on the wolf's face. If Clary saw it, she didn't remark on it. Instead she pushed herself up a little higher—closer to Jace.

"But everyone's all right?" She persisted. "Alec, Isabelle, Maia—they are all right, aren't they?"

Luke sighed loudly, running his rough hands through his hair and sending ashes drifting. "Isabelle was injured." Jace flinched inwardly. "So was Robert Lightwood. He'll be needing a good amount of time to heal. Many of the other Shadowhunters, Including Malik and Imogen, are dead." And then his grey eyes captured Jace's and Jace read in them what he wasn't saying before he continued. "This was a very hard battle, Clary, and it didn't go well for us. Valentine is gone. So is the Sword. The Conclave is in tatters. I don't know—"

Next to him, Jace heard a small gasp. Clary looked wretched, and she shook her head like she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Like she felt guilty—_no._ This wasn't her fault . . . and he glared at Luke for making her feel like it was. "I'm sorry," Clary breathed then, sending daggers into Jace's heart. "This was my fault. If I hadn't—"

Jace's hand darted out, his fingers circling her arm as he captured her attention. "If you hadn't done what you did, Valentine would have killed everyone on the ship." His tone left no room for argument. He wouldn't allow it. She was the only person not at fault for what happened. And Clary looked both grateful and confused at his words.

"You mean what I did with the rune?"

"You tore the ship to fragments." It was Luke who spoke, his voice hollow. "Every bolt, every rivet, anything that might have held it together, just snapped apart. The whole thing shuddered into pieces." Luke sighed. "The oil tanks came apart too. Most of us barely had time to jump into the water before it all started to burn. What you did—" the pack leader met Clary's eyes, his voice low, "—no one's ever seen anything like it."

"Oh," Clary met Jace's eyes. "Was anyone—did I hurt anyone?"

Jace nearly laughed, but managed to keep his face straight. The question was honest enough, but the innocence that laced her tone was sweet. "Quite a few demon's drowned when the ship sank. But none of the Shadowhunters were hurt, no."

"Because they can swim?"

"Because they were rescued," the corners of Jace's mouth ticked upwards, his fingers itching to tuck her damp hair back behind her ear. "Nixies pulled us all out of the water."

Clary's brow furrowed. "You mean the water faeries?"

"The Queen of the Seelie Court came through in her own way," sighed Jace. Though he found it convenient that she waited until the end of battle to do so. Not that he shared that bit of suspicion. He only said. "She did promise what aide was in her power."

"But how did . . ." And then Clary's emerald gaze captured Jace's golden one as she looked at him curiously—like she knew something he didn't. And the longer he stared, the more he got lost in her.

"The Shadowhunter boats are starting to move."

From somewhere far away, Jace heard the vampire's voice and blinked. He saw Clary flush at the same time that warmth spread through his own body. Jace looked away quickly. Simon was right, he realized now that he was staring out over the East River. The Clave boats had started for shore, their witchlight's bouncing along.

"I guess they picked up everyone they could," Simon added.

"Right," said Luke suddenly, and he made his way slowly across the truck bed. Jace could see that he still had the slightest of limp to him still—and then felt a twinge of guilt at having forgotten about Luke breaking his leg. Though, the pack leader didn't seem all that upset by it. "Time to get going," he said, swinging himself into the drivers seat.

Jace moved back, sitting on the side of the truck as it began making it's way toward the shore. It pained him to move away from Clary, but he knew he needed to. Turning, Clary wrapped her arms around herself—_Where the hell is my jacket?_ He just noticed that she wasn't wearing it. Before he could say anything about it however, Simon had taken one of his unnecessary breaths. "This is so weird," he said looking over the side and down at the river. "I keep expecting the truck to start sinking."

That pulled him up short, and Jace raised tired eyes to the vampire. _You were just kidnapped, killed, and bled dry, before feeding on me and being thrown unceremoniously from a disintegrating ship._ Did he really think that this—a floating truck—was the weirdest part of his night? Jace shook his head, his body aching. "I can't believe you just went through what we went through and you think this is weird." And he saw Clary staring at him, studying him almost. Whatever she found there, made her smile. So he guessed it couldn't be all that bad. She leaned forward, the smile slipping from her face.

"What will happen to the Lightwoods?" She asked softly with concern. "After everything that's happened—the Clave—"

The Clave would want to see them. All of them. And they would either call them to Idris or come directly to the Institute. _But it's not the Lightwoods I'm worried about,_ Jace thought, his eyes slicing to Clary. He wasn't worried about himself either. But that was because it wasn't them that had destroyed a ship with an amplified rune. And that was why he didn't want to tell Alec about what she had done. He didn't want the Clave knowing. Jace bit the inside of his cheek, before shrugging more casually than he felt. "The Clave works in mysterious ways." He said slowly. "I don't know what they'll do. They'll be very interested in you, though. And in what you can do." Clary met Jace's eyes, her green eyes shining bright, and he knew the truth of it then. They would treat her like an experiment—a weapon to be used as they saw fit. _I won't let them hurt you._ Jace vowed. _I wont let them touch you._

A noise from Simon captured her attention, leaving Jace momentarily lost when she broke their connection. "What's wrong, Simon?"

Jace stared at the vampire, unable to be upset. He made her happy. Even now, Jace could remember in excruciating detail the sound of her voice when she had screamed Simon's name. He had meant it when he said that he only wanted to give her what made her happy. No matter how much it tore him apart. Simon looked green and he was staring at the rushing current with trepidation. "It's the river," he said with a shudder. "Running water isn't good for vampires. It's pure and—we're not."

At this, Clary snorted. "The East River is hardly pure." _She's got a point,_ Jace smiled with amusement just as Clary tugged on Simon's shirt. "Didn't you fall into the water when the ship came apart?"

At her question, Simon looked up at Jace, their eyes locking for only a moment before they both looked away quickly—the corners of their mouths simultaneously quirking upward. "No," Simon smiled. "There was a piece of metal floating in the water and Jace tossed me onto it. I stayed out of the river."

_And I still say you sounded like a screeching cat the whole way_—Jace swallowed; Clary was looking at him from over her shoulder, her Idris eyes brimming with gratitude. "Thank you." The words were so earnest, it took his breath away. In that moment, he would have fallen on his knees and offered to do more for her, just to hear that sound again—to see that look again. He kept himself seated. Clary took a breath, her eyes slipping past him and out toward the water. "Do you think . . ."

"Do I think what?" Jace asked, raising his brows when she didn't finish her sentence.

Clary shook her head, her attention returning to him. "That Valentine might have drowned?"

_No._

But it was Simon who answered . . . and with surprising wisdom, no less. "Never believe the bad guy is dead until you see a body." And then he shrugged. "That just leads to unhappiness and surprise ambushes."

_Well . . ._ "You're not wrong," Jace nodded thoughtfully. Which was exactly what had already happened. "My guess is that he isn't dead," he continued. "Otherwise, we would have found the Mortal Instruments."

"Can the Clave go on without them?" Clary asked. "Whether Valentine's alive or not?" His Clary . . . not even being near death could stop her constant questions and curiosity.

Jace sighed, looking away. Of course the Clave would go on. But how many precautions would they put into place because of this? How would the Accord's be effected? Who would get screwed? "The Clave always goes on. That's all it knows how to do." And he stared back toward where his fathers ship had been before Clary opened a big ass hole in it. He was proud of her for that. _But the Clave . ._ . he shook the thought away, focusing instead on the horizon. It had grown much lighter compared to when he had first gotten off the ship. He could even make out a golden streak cutting through the ash grey of their surroundings. "The sun's coming up."

"No!" Clary's cry of horror came after a moment's pause, and Jace turned to look at her with surprised confusion. He had not meant for it to be taken as a bad thing. It was just the sun . . . _Fuck!_ He looked at Simon—Simon, who was a vampire—trapped on a river with impending fucking daylight—_FUCK!_

Getting to his feet quickly, Jace was across the truck bed within two strides and bending down into the truck cab. Luke looked surprised to see him, but Jace didn't give him a chance to comment on it. "The suns coming up." He whispered urgently. But Luke only looked at him like he was speaking gibberish and Jace could feel both the annoyance and panic building in his chest. "Simon is in the truck!"

Luke's face went white. "Shit," the wolf said, turning in his seat to look at the vampire. "Shit."

"Yes, Shit," Jace said quickly, looking back at the horizon. "Now that the shocked part of the evening is over . . . I think we should move on to the panicked speeding portion of it, don't you think?" And he gripped the side of the broken cab as Luke slammed his foot down on the gas pedal. _Not fast enough . . . we're not going fast enough._ Jace bit the inside of his cheek. But it wasn't until he heard a devastating cry from Clary that he completely lost it. "There has got to be a way to get this damn thing to move faster!" He shouted at the pack leader.

"I'm trying, Jace!" Luke growled.

The urgency was overwhelming. _Come on . . . come on!_ The shore was right there! "Come on!" Jace mentally tried to will the truck to go faster. Clary had trusted him to save the vampire, and he had—twice! But now she was going to lose him and there wasn't a fucking thing he could do about it! Turning back to check on the sunrise once more, Jace caught sight of Simon and Clary embracing one another. Clary looked like she was trying to cover as much of the vampire's body as possible. The scene broke his heart, not with jealousy this time, but with grief for Clary. He wanted so badly to help . . . to do something. His heart pounded, his stomach sinking.

And then the sun was there, its full might glaring down on them.

Jace turned, terror ripping through him as Simon threw his head back, golden light shooting from his mouth. His face had marks as black as runes tracing up his cheeks. Clary had taken a step away, tears streaming down her face, her hands pressed to her mouth. And then she cried out with such raw emotion that Jace felt it tearing through him.

_"Simon!"_

She lunged toward the vampire, and time slowed down as Jace flew across the truck, grabbing her by the shoulders and jerking her away from the searing streaks of light shooting out from Simon. Clary screamed wretchedly, fighting against Jace as he wrapped one arm around her chest and his other around her waist—holding her tightly against him. _I'm sorry._ She stomped on his feet, clawed at his arms—he endured it all. _I'm so sorry._ His heart broke for her, and he wanted nothing more than to shield her, to take her pain. Biting the inside of his cheek, Jace raised his eyes to Simon as Clary continued to struggle beneath his grip. His mouth dropped open. The black veins that had traced up the vampires face were shining as if filled with light.

Simon was still. . .

He didn't . . .

"Clary," he breathed excitedly. "Do you see . . ." But it was obvious that she wasn't seeing anything as she continued to rebel against him. Jace doubted she even heard him at this point. All the same, he held her tighter, their shared body heat flaring between them. "Clary," he tried getting through to her. "Look—_Look!"_

"No!" She cried out in horror, throwing her hands over her eyes—terrified of what she might see. Jace also noticed that the fight had gone out go her. She was leaning back against him willingly, now, trying desperately to turn away from Simon. "I don't want to look. I don't want to—"

But she needed to look! Hell, Jace couldn't look away. And then Simon's eyes met his, blinking slowly. If the vampire had been surprised to be alive before, it was nothing compared to now. And Jace smiled—really smiled for the first time. The bastard had somehow managed to _once again_ escape death. Now if he could just get Clary to see. Slipping his fingers along her arms, Jace took her wrists gently in his hands. "Clary," he whispered urgently, his lips pressing softly against her ear. "Look." And then he pried her hands away from her face. _"Look."_

And then Clary looked—really looked—at Simon. At the golden glow that wrapped around him, and the sunlit tips of his hair. He hadn't burned, but lived. Somehow or another. And Jace felt her body go limp with relief, his arm snaking quickly around her waist and supporting her weight. And then she was laughing, truly laughing, as she dislodged herself from Jace to look at Simon. It was a beautifully melodic sound. And when her emerald eyes met his, he couldn't help it . . . he started laughing too. Simon joined in next, as he examined his honey laced hands with wonder. Jace laughed harder, feeling a stitch in his side. But he couldn't stop—none of them could.

They laughed the whole way back to the bank.

**#######**

Maryse stared at the oak door in front of her. All she had to do was reach up and knock, and yet the idea of actually doing so was terrifying. Not that she had anyone but herself to blame for it. She had also meant to do this sooner . . . but so much had happened since they returned from the battle on the East River. Robert had been poisoned, Isabelle had been injured, they lost Valentine and the Mortal Instruments, and now . . . on the other side of this door, Jace was packing up to leave.

It had been one of the first things he announced when he had arrived back at the Institute. That he would take the day to say his goodbyes and pack up his stuff, but that he would be gone by night fall. He didn't even say where he was going to go—or whether he even had somewhere to go.

She knew she had to talk to him. But the first time she tried to approach him—she had found him with Alec and knew immediately that it wasn't a good time. Her son—his _parabatai_—had Jace pinned to the ground and was trying to force holy water down his throat. She nearly laughed at Jace's cries of protest, his arms and legs flailing wildly out from under Alec. They were both soaked through. She slipped out silently, pretending she didn't hear the crude names that her son was lovingly calling his brother.

Later, when Maryse tried again, she found Jace with Isabelle in the kitchen. Her daughter was in tears as she tried to shove a plate of food at him. And Maryse's heart broke as Jace—giving the plate of food a wide berth and a horrified look—wrapped his sister in her arms, comforting her. Again, she knew it wasn't a good time.

Part of her wondered if she was procrastinating. In fact, she knew she was. But it wasn't until she was told by a hysterical Max that Jace was packing, that she finally knew she couldn't put it off anymore. She had all but ran to his room. And now all she needed to do was knock.

She took a breath, as her knuckles rapped softly against the wood.

And then Jace was standing there, having pulled the door open swiftly, his golden eyes bright. Seeing Maryse, his expression darkened. The look sent a dagger pressing into her heart. She guessed he had been expecting someone else. It was all or nothing though. If one thing was true about Maryse, it was that she never half-assed anything. "Jace," she said softly, looking at the boy who had won her heart so long ago and feeling a hitch in her throat. "Can I come in?"

Jace's jaw went taught and she wondered if he was biting on the inside of his cheek again. She knew that it was part bad habit—part nervous tick. Much like Alec biting his nails or Isabelle tapping her foot. Finally Jace shrugged and turned his back on her, stalking across his room. "You can do what you like." His voice was casual as he reached for the small duffle bag on his bed and pulled it toward him. "It's your house." At that, he snatched up a small pile of shirts and shoved them into the bag with the grace and elegance of a charging hippo.

Maryse sighed. "Actually, it's the Clave's house. We're only it's guardians."

"Whatever," Jace said flatly without looking at her as he forced books into the bag next.

She hated this! She hated everything about this! There was a time, once, when he looked at her like . . . Maryse shook the thought away, knowing the thought was pointless now. She had ruined that. And yet, she still wanted to grab him and hug him. To tell him the truth. He deserved that, didn't he? But all she said was, "What are you doing?" Even though she knew full well what it was he was doing.

Jace stared at her, the incredulity clear on his face. "I'm packing . . ." He gestured pointedly at the bag. "It's what people generally do when they're moving out."

"Don't leave." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she felt the blood drain from her face. She didn't care. Swallowing, she continued. "If you want to stay—"

But Jace, who had seemed caught off guard by her initial outburst, shook his head. "I don't want to stay. I don't belong here."

The dagger twisted painfully, slicing her heart open now. "Where will you go?"

"Luke's." His tone was clipped, and she flinched at the iciness of it. Jace stared at her for a minute, before shrugging. "For a while. After that, I don't know. Maybe to Idris."

So he was going to stay with the lycanthrope and his sister—Clary. But Clary wasn't his sister! Isn't that what the she had once told Maryse? Not like Isabelle was. Not where it mattered. They hadn't grown up together or trained together. Maryse tried to swallow past the painful lump in her throat. "Is that where you think you belong?"

But Jace didn't look at her. "I don't know where I belong."

_Here!_ Maryse wanted to cry out. _With me—with all of us!_ She took a step towards Jace, wanting desperately to comfort him, but knowing he wouldn't allow it. "You belong with your family," she said then. "With us."

At her words, Maryse saw Jace stiffen—his grip on the bag turning his knuckles white. "You threw me out," he spit through clenched teeth, and Maryse nearly broke at the pain she heard in his voice and saw in the rigidness of his shoulders. Jace took a breath and turned to look at her. "I'm Sorry." His voice was softer now. "About everything that happened." But Maryse didn't want him to be sorry. She deserved his anger. She had failed him. _It was my fault._ "But," Jace continued. "You didn't want me before, and I can't imagine you'd want me now." _But I do, Jace!_ "Robert's going to be sick awhile; you'll be needing to take care of him. I'll just be in the way.

"In the way?" The words bewildered Maryse. Jace was never in the way. She shook her head. "Robert want's to see you, Jace—"

"I doubt that." Jace mumbled with finality so sincere that it sent Maryse into a panic. He truly believed that no body wanted him and that hurt her more than anything else had done so far.

Her heart began to jackhammer. He was really intent on doing this . . . determined to leave so as to not be the burden he thought he was. She had to think of something—a way to stop him. "What about Alec?" She blurted out desperately. She saw him hesitate, and continued hastily. "Isabelle, Max—they need you. If you don't believe me that I want you here—and I couldn't blame you if you didn't—you must know that they do." She bit her lip, dropping her head and wringing her hands together. "We've been through a bad time, Jace. Don't hurt them more than they're already hurt."

"That's not fair."

Raising her head, Maryse stared at him. She could only see his profile as he looked down, his golden blonde hair hanging in his face. He was clenching and unclenching the bag strap in his hand. His tone might have suggested indifference . . . but she knew he was in pain. A mother could always tell when her child was in pain. _And some mother I've been._ "I don't blame you if you hate me," she spoke around the lump in her throat, her lips trembling. Jace spun on her, unable to hide his look of shock at her honesty. "But what I did—" _You have to understand_—She needed him to understand. "—even throwing you out—" she flinched at the shadow that crossed his face. "Treating you as I did, it was to protect you. And—" Maryse took a breath, for this was the part that she was not proud of, "—because I was afraid."

"Afraid of me?" Jace stared at her, his eyes unreadable but his shoulders taught. And she grimaced upon seeing his tell-tale sign of stress. But he deserved the truth, no matter how horrible. She nodded miserably. "Well, that makes me feel much better."

Maryse drew her lips into a thin line, swallowing as she looked at Jace—the boy who had just as much of her heart as Alec and Isabelle and Max. The boy she had thought . . . She took a breath. "I thought you would break my heart like Valentine did," she exhaled. "You were the first thing I loved, you see, after him, that wasn't my own blood. The first living creature." Even now, Maryse could see him walking toward her after arriving in New York for the first time. "And you were just a child—"

"You thought I was someone else." Jace didn't sound bitter when he said it, but as if he were merely stating a fact. And she shook her head.

"No." That was one thing she was absolutely certain of. From the moment Jace arrived seven years ago—with his honey-blonde hair and matching eyes—eyes that tried to desperately to hide his nervousness and grief—Maryse shook the memory away. "I've always known just who you are." _You are my son_. "Ever since the first time I saw you getting of the ship from Idris, when you were ten years old—you walked into my heart, just as my own children did when they were born." But Jace only stared at her, and Maryse smiled sadly. "You can't understand. You've never been a parent. You never love anything like you love your children." _Nor will I ever love anything like I love Max and Isabelle and Alec. And you, Jace._ She sighed. "And nothing can make you angrier."

Jace looked like he wanted to say a hundred different things; an array of emotions running through his eyes like a roll of film through a projector. Maryse found herself thinking wildly of Russian roulette, and wondered which emotionally charged chamber she would get. "I did notice the angry part," he said then, with casual thoughtfulness.

_Indifference and humor._ Maryse sighed, knowing that she should not expect more. She was sure that if it were her in Jace's shoes, she'd be angry too. But what about his sister? Or his brothers? Alec was his _parabatai._ They would be crushed if Jace left—_she_ would be crushed if Jace left. "I don't expect you to forgive me," she said sadly, knowing there was a good possibility that he never would. "But if you'd stay for Isabelle and Alec and Max, I'd be so grateful—" she cut herself off seeing the look on Jace's face.

"I don't want your gratitude," he snapped, his words slapping her as he turned and jerked the zipper closed. It got stuck. Maryse shook her head, panicking. _No, no, no . . ._ why had she said that? She knew he was angry at her—livid—so why on earth had she practically told him that staying would be a favor to her? It was the wrong thing to say. After all that . . . she had made him feel that his presence here was only wanted as a favor. _But that's not it!_ She stared at Jace, who was still tugging at the zipper forcefully, his anger only making it get stuck worse, fearing that the damage was irreparable. He had grown so much, she realized painfully. Like most parents, she still saw the child he had once been—the frightened little boy that spent night after night in bed staring at the ceiling while she sang through the walls. Somehow she had missed his transition into a man.

_"A la claire fontaine."_ She said, her voice barely above a whisper. _"m'en allant promener."_

Jace ceased trying to get his zipper closed, his head cocking to look at her. "What?"

_"Il y a longtemps que je t'aime. Jamais je ne t'oublierai—" And I will love you always._ Maryse smiled sadly. "It's the old French ballad I used to sing to Alec and Isabelle. The one you asked me about."

_The one you never realized was for you._

Jace stared at her, his golden eye's wide, his mouth slightly open. Maryse pulled her shoulders back, unable to look away and unable to stop worrying about him. Even now, she still had to restrain herself from throwing her arms around him. But then, Jace had never done well with forced affection. Don't go. Please, please, don't go. You are my son. You have always been my son. _And I have loved you for a long, long time._ She sighed as the song lyric weaved itself into her thoughts.

"You were wrong that I never sang it to you," she said, her head shaking sadly. _Because I did, Jace . . . so many times_ . . . "It's just that you never heard me."


	20. Epilogue

**~Epilogue~**

Jace sat staring at the silver key in his hand. It was attached to a chain. His chain. After Maryse had persuaded him to stay, she had given him the key back, saying she should have never taken it. He wasn't sure how much of what Maryse said was true, but he wanted to believe her. Desperately. Which was why he knew he had to be cautious. He had already been burned one too many times. Running his fingers through his hair and throwing the chain over his head and around his neck, Jace set to work putting his clothes away. Inside the closet, he stared at the hole in the wall. It seemed like so much had happened since he had put his fist through the plaster. A lot had happened. He'd been kicked out, thrown in prison, and shacked up with a warlock. There had been the Seelie Queen—his stomach twisted with the memory of Clary in his arms—and vampires and wolves and demons and runes and ships and. . .

Death.

There had been a lot of death.

Jace sighed and threw himself into bed—his sigh instantly turning into a groan of pleasure. It was funny how people always hate their beds until they couldn't use them. Like going on a long vacation. It's only when you get home that you realize in that moment, that there is nothing in the world more amazing than your bed. _Not that I would call what I was doing a vacation._ Fishing into his pocket, he pulled his cell out and pressed the speed dial that belonged to Clary. And instantly got her voicemail.

"Hey, it's Jace. I um . . . I talked to Maryse. Good news! We worked things out. So I'm going to be staying at the Institute. Which is probably for the best—not that the idea of living with Luke and—and you, was a bad idea. It's just that . . . well . . . maybe it would be easier this way? I don't know. This whole message is not going the way I had thought it would. And now I'm rambling. Yep, I'm definitely rambling. If you tell anyone that I was rambling, I might be forced to kill you. Or at the very least duck tape your mouth shut."

Jace hung up, staring at his phone with horror. _What the fuck was that?_ Only Clary could make him prattle on like an idiot. Which was another good reason for not living with her and Luke. There was also the fact that doing so would mean he'd have to pretend to be something that deep in his heart he knew he couldn't be. Staring at his phone, he called Luke instead. He picked up on the third ring.

"Hey, Jace."

"Can't you pretend to not know who it is?" he replied slightly affronted. "You all make me feel predictable enough, thank you."

Luke laughed. "Well, seeing as how your name and picture comes up . . . I think its safe to say that I knew it was you."

"That's besides the point," retorted Jace flatly. "Anyway, is Clary there?"

"Yeah, but she's in the shower." Luke said casually enough that Jace thought he might be telling the truth. Which was good. He didn't need her avoiding him again. But it was also bad, in that Jace had a sudden unasked for and unmerciful visualization of Clary in the shower. And it was sending out shock waves of heat through his body as his heart rate elevated to the thunderous roar of hooves running on pavement. _Son of a bitch._

_Dogs!_

_Owls!_

_Um . . . demons._

_Yes! Big demons with tentacles and . . . and slime! Lots of slime!_

_SIMON!_

His heart rate dropped—_Oh, thank the Angel_—as he thought of Clary's vampire friend. He visualized his stupid face and his stupid shirts that made absolutely no sense. When he was sure that he wasn't thinking of a particularly beautiful red head in the shower anymore—_stop it_—he continued on, quickly explaining to Luke what had happened with Maryse, and thanked the pack leader for offering him a place to stay—something he had fully intended to do at the time. When they were done, Jace had hung up and tossed the phone on his night stand, closing his eyes.

He did not sleep well that night.

Breakfast the next morning was weird. And awkward. He hadn't even been sure that he was going to get up for breakfast when he woke, but Max, who came to his room not long after, had changed his mind. He wasn't sure there was anything he wouldn't do for that kid. Thankfully, his little brother had yammered nonstop the entire way to the kitchen, leaving Jace to only smile and nod. He wasn't exactly feeling up for conversations. Upon entering through the swinging kitchen door, Maryse had stopped in shock, staring at Jace with a carton of eggs in her hands. Biting the inside of his cheek, he took a seat next to Alec at the table.

And that's when it really got uncomfortable.

Maryse was being overly polite. She was never overly polite. Hell, she was rarely just polite. Which meant that all her niceties were strained with an overbearing amount of,_ I'm so glad you came down!_ And, _What would you like to eat?_ _You name it—anything._ Not to mention the barrage of concern for his sleeping habit. _Did you sleep okay? Your eyes are dark. After the battle on the East River, it wouldn't be uncommon to have trouble sleeping._ Jace responded to each question with grunts and nods—no need to point out that it wasn't the battle on his father's ship that made it difficult to sleep. It would only make things more awkward, and it was already driving him nuts. He wished she would just stop. She didn't.

"So, as you all know," Maryse began, stabbing her fork in the small bowl of fruit sitting in front of her. "Robert is very ill and will be requiring much of my attention. If you need me—" Jace, who's head was buried in his own food, had the feeling she was staring at him, "—I will be in the infirmary." Jace choked down an egg. "The Clave will be contacting us as well and giving us further instructions on how to proceed. Jace—" Her voice cracked on his name.

Sighing, Jace stared at his plate before controlling his expression and turning it into one of bored disinterest. He looked up at her. "Yes?"

Her cheeks flushed. "I would not expect that you are eager to see the Clave given what they—what we—I mean—" _You mean because you all called me a liar and kicked me out of the Institute and then called me a liar again and sent me to the City of Bones and refused to trust me and sent me to live with a questionably unhygienic warlock—_Jace cut the thought off as Maryse took a breath. "I just mean that—eventually they will want to speak with you but I can try to delay that if you'd like. Give you some time—"

"Not necessary," replied Jace dismissively, though his heart was racing with the memories of the last few days. From the corner of his eye, he saw Alec staring at him. He didn't return the look. "Besides, we both know that the Clave will want to speak to me—_Valentine's Arrow."_ Maryse flinched as if he'd slapped her, and he had to be careful not to show the sudden guilt he felt for hurting her. He shouldn't have said it. "I mean son," Jace mumbled, stabbing his own food now. He wasn't hungry anymore.

Without another word he got quickly to his feet, the chair scrapping loudly across the floor, and left the kitchen. Behind him, Jace could hear Alec and Max protesting his abrupt departure, but he just couldn't be there any longer. He all but ran back to his room—

And stalled in the doorway.

Izzy was sitting on his bed, her dark raven hair hiding her face as she stared down at her hands. She looked strangely vulnerable. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the frame. "You know," he said loudly, staring up at his ceiling. His tone was laced with false annoyance. "When a man wants to return to his room in an emotional huff, it is expected that said room will be empty."

Izzy looked up and smiled. "Emotional huff?"

Jace threw his hands up, walking toward her. "Yes! I understand you missed breakfast, but lots of emotional huffiness occurred, and with me being a teenager—I'm full of emotional teenage angst that I had fully intended to release upon coming back to my room. However, as I am also a man . . . with you in here, I have to bite back on said emotional huffy angst and keep it locked away—lest my man card be removed."

Isabelle raised a brow. "Translation: Mom is being weird around you."

"Yup." Jace sat on the bed next to Izzy, looking at her with concern now. She was still a little pale, but otherwise seemed okay. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay," Isabelle shrugged. "Not in the mood for company. It's why I didn't go to breakfast."

Jace stared at her, the corner of his mouth ticking upward. "Then why are you here?"

"Because you're hardly company," Isabelle said absently, as though her mind were a thousand miles away.

Jace stared at her. "Ouch."

Isabelle looked at him, her eyes popping open. "That's not what I meant—"

"Well, I would hope not." Jace cut her off. "Because I have been told that I am amazing company. Women everywhere would kill for the chance to have me to themselves." _Everyone but Clary._ And then before he could stop himself, he thought of her curls—like a fiery waterfall cascading over her shoulders; the determined set of her chin when she wanted something—and had him scrambling desperately to try to give her whatever it was. Her emerald eyes—as green as the hills and meadows that surrounded his home growing up; eyes that were his home, though he could never truly live in them. _Because she was his sister._ "You want to go to the training room?" Jace asked suddenly, jumping to his feet and raking his fingers through his shaggy hair. Isabelle looked at him questioningly but said nothing. She only nodded and got to her feet. Jace followed her out.

In the training room, Jace watched Izzy climb up her whip to the scaffolding above. He rarely had to give her instructions as he did with Alec, but that was partly because Iz was the type of Shadowhunter that did what she wanted. Racing along the beam, she smiled as she flipped through the air and tucked her body into a roll upon landing softly.

"So, I did come to talk to you for a reason," she said releasing her whip and turning to face him. "I'm sure you know that the Clave is probably going to want us to go to Idris." Jace did know that, even though it had not been stipulated yet. But his father had the Sword and the Cup. And he was sure it was only a matter of time before he got the werewolf blood. Which meant that all he would need was the Mirror—which was somewhere in Idris. Or at least that's what everyone believed. The Clave wouldn't just want to speak with him about his father, they'd want every available Shadowhunter there to protect Alicante. Instead of answering, however, Jace merely nodded, his expression blank. "Well," Izzy continued, "Maybe while we're there . . . you can . . . I don't know . . . try to have fun?"

_Fun?_ Had she completely lost it? Jace bit the inside of his cheek, but kept his voice light and a smile on his face. "Fun is my middle name."

Isabelle crossed her arm, her foot tapping. "You know what I mean. I'm just saying it might do you some good to get away from—" she hesitated, and Jace silently filled in what he knew she was thinking. _Clary_. But that's not what she said after her moment of pause. "New York."

Jace gasped mockingly, his hand flying to his chest and clutching at his heart. "Dear God, woman! How can you even say that? Especially when New York has so much to offer—like the aromatic smell of the sewers, for instance."

Isabelle rolled her eyes and snapped her whip out toward a side bar just as Alec walked in. "What are you guys doing?"

"Well," Jace replied speculatively without missing a beat. _"I'm_ standing here, most aggrieved, might I add, while Isabelle insults the gloriously pungent odor in which New York has gifted us." Izzy, who was pulling herself up onto another beam, flipped him off. Jace smiled sadly at Alec. "Some people will never be satisfied."

"Speaking of never being satisfied," Alec began, looking hard at his parabatai.

_Uh oh._ Jace stared at his friend. He didn't want to talk right now. He didn't want to talk about any of this. _Nope._ Before Alec could speak again, Jace was at the door. _"Et tu,_ Alec?" He called in mock horror. "What did New York ever do to you?!" And he ducked out of the room. Behind him, he could hear Alec calling that that was not what he had meant—something Jace knew. He knew that Alec knew it, too. So he was grateful that his brother didn't follow him.

Wandering around the Institute, Jace pulled his cell out of his pocket and turned it over in his hands before flipping it open in one fluid motion. He dialed her number, and somehow wasn't surprised when he got her voicemail. Again. Frustrated, he ended the call and called Luke instead.

"Hey Jace," the wolf said in way of greeting.

"I hope your contact picture of me is a good one," Jace answered, not knowing why he said it. Nor did it stop him from continuing. "It would be a shame to have someone as good-looking as myself in your phone only to have an unflattering picture—"

"Your contact picture is an octopus."

Jace nearly laughed, but replied in mock disappointment. "Well that's just downright uncalled for. And cruel. I am hardly as vile as an octopus."

"Vile?" Luke asked with tired amusement. "Who uses the word 'vile' anymore?"

"I know, right?" Jace grinned. "Anyway, is Clary available?" he asked then, keeping his tone light and casual.

"Sorry," Luke said, sounding as if he truly was. "Clary's not feeling all that well. She's sleeping."

Somehow this was not surprising to Jace, as he was reminded of lying pathetically on Magnus's couch calling her over and over again while she avoided him. "Okay." He knew he sounded like he didn't care, though nothing was further from he truth. "Tell her I called then."

"Will do, Jace."

Hanging up, he continued to wander absently. He wasn't really sure what he was doing or where he was going until he found himself outside the infirmary. He stared at the large double doors, listening to the hushed murmurs coming from inside. He knew he should go see Robert, but he wasn't ready yet. _Yeah, no_. _I don't think I can handle both people I'd thought of as parents, looking at me like I'm some sort of monster. Thanks anyway._ Turning, Jace had barely made it three steps when he heard his name. _Shit._

Taking a breath, he closed his eyes trying to calm himself before turning to look at Maryse with a casual demeanor. "What's up?"

Maryse hesitated. Her black hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail, her hands full of dirty linens, as she stared at him uneasily. She had aged a lot, Jace realized. _How much of that is my fault?_ "Stay there," she implored, looking down at the sheets in her hands as if just now remembering she was carrying them. And then she looked back up at him. "Please." With that, she darted back inside the infirmary. Jace could have run. In fact, she probably expected him to—which was why he didn't. When she came back out, her hands were empty, and she wore a look of surprise that told him he had been right.

"I'm sorry." He blurted before she could speak and surprising himself. That had not been what he intended to say. Maryse shook her head, her brow creasing. Jace sighed, but kept his voice otherwise casual. "For what I said at breakfast—the whole _'Valentine's arrow'_ thing."

"No," Maryse held up a hand to stop him. "You had every right. I should never had said it the first time."

_You think?_ "Well . . . I'm not disagreeing, but it was still uncalled for that I repeat it in the manner in which I did."

Maryse stared at him, her lips tugging down at the corners of her mouth as she drew her shoulders back. And then she took a hesitant step forward, like she thought Jace might be a scared animal that would run at the sight of movement. He nearly rolled his eyes. "You've grown so much since last I saw you," she said, her tone laced with sadness as she spoke his previous thoughts. "Everything's changed, and . . . and I'm still stuck in the past, looking at you all is if you were still children. Even now, all I can think when looking at you is—" Jace went still as she reached up and tugged on a lock of his hair, "—is that you need a haircut." She smiled sheepishly, but Jace was grateful for the change of subject. They had already broached this topic last night anyway, and he had zero desire to re-live it. Instead, he reached up and ran his hand over the back of his head.

"You can cut it," he blurt out for the second time in a row. He really needed to stop doing that. Catching the look of surprise on her face, he mentally kicked himself. "If—if you want, that is." _Nice save, dumbass._ But it wasn't an uncommon request, by any means. She had cut it for him many times in the past. But that was before . . . Jace took a breath, recomposing himself. At least he hoped he had. "It _is_ getting a little long."

But Maryse was already nodding before he had finished. "Yes." And Jace could hear the barely contained excitement in her voice. Maybe she had really meant what she said about wanting him to stay. But he was still just so scared of getting his hopes up. Not to mention that he was still angry. And hurt—something he would never admit to. "Yes, of course I can cut your hair for you."

It was a start at least.

The haircut hadn't been as bad or as awkward as Jace thought it might be. Some of their conversation had been strained, and other parts had flowed smoothly. But then, Rome wasn't built in a day. She had even caught him up on Clave business—though Jace had the sneaking suspicion it was her way of trying to make amends. There was still no sign of Valentine (not that he thought there would be), and the Clave believed that he must still have the Mortal Instruments (something he was sure of). When she was done, Jace told her much of what he had told Alec—skipping the part about Clary's amplified rune just as he had done with _his parabatai._ She listened with rapt attention.

When the haircut was done, Jace decided that he would try with Maryse. But that didn't mean he trusted her yet. He would forgive her. He would not, however, forget.

Later that day, and feeling much lighter without his hair sitting on his neck, he had gone back to his room. Picking up a book, he stared at it as if he were making a huge life mistake. It was one of Max's cartoon books—_manga_—whatever you called it. But he also knew that Clary not only read them, but thoroughly enjoyed them. And Jace wanted to know why—wanted to understand her likes and dislikes. Sighing, he threw himself across the bed and opened the book only to find that it was backwards. The end was in the front. Who the hell put the end of the story at the front of a book? Annoyed, he flipped it over.

The sun had started to go down outside as Jace turned to the next page and stared at the pictures. The darkening room made it harder to see—not that it was impossible. He turned a page. _That is so fake. No one can swing a sword of that size while simultaneously making that face. And what kind of kick is that?_ He narrowed his eyes at that cartoon drawing. _And why do the characters have monstrous sized eyes, but ever rarely have noses?_ Sighing, he turned another page just as Alec walked in. His _parabatai_ said nothing as he squeezed a witchlight rune-stone and set it on the nightstand, the glow chasing the increasing shadows back into the corners of the room. When Alec picked up a book off the shelf, Jace silently moved his legs, making room for his brother to sit on the bed. Jace was always aware of his friend's movements, even when he wasn't looking. With his feet still on the ground, Alec laid back on the bed and held the book out in front of him. Neither of them spoke, and the only sound was the turning of pages.

After an hour or so—maybe it was longer—Alec hoisted himself up with a light groan, and marked his spot in the book before closing and returning it to the shelf. He left without saying a word and Jace stared at the witchlight his brother had forgotten to take with him. Closing his own book, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Hey, Clary—it's Jace. I don't know why I feel the need to tell you that every time I call you. I'm sure you know it's me. Anyway, I was just wanting to talk to you, but—" his eyes traveled to the clock sitting behind the glowing rune-stone. "Oh shit, it's three in the morning. Sorry, I didn't realize the time. You're probably asleep—" or avoiding me, "—and here I am, trying to wake you. Well, call me back when you get this." Or not.

He did not sleep well that night either.

The next morning, the first thing Jace did was check his phone—his heart twisting painfully. Not that he needed to. Zero missed calls, zero messages. Getting to his feet, he saw vaguely that it was nearly noon and was surprised no one had come to wake him. Not that he minded. He was still tired, having woken several times throughout the night, and right now he thought a shower would be amazing. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a blue sweater as he headed toward his bathroom. Once he was done and had finished dressing, he felt much better, he went in search of food. He hoped that Maryse had made something. She had always been a great cook. Alas . . . nothing. She was too busy tending to Robert all morning.

But it wasn't just that. It seemed like a cloud of exhaustion has settled over the Institute. No one had much energy for anything. Not even Izzy, who normally didn't shy away from cooking—though what she produced was likely to kill you—was in the mood to make anything. Shrugging, Jace decided to run to Taki's, getting takeout orders from everyone before he left. Alone in the elevator, his mind wandered to Clary. When didn't it? And then he thought about what Izzy had said—about trying to have fun and getting away from New York. Maybe it was a good thing Clary was avoiding him. Maybe he should go to Idris after all and . . . and try to get over her. How was he ever going to get over her if she was constantly—

Right in front of him.

Jace's stomach dropped heavily as he opened the elevator doors and a currant of electricity shot through him. She was staring at him with just as much surprise as he was probably showing her. Her ruby curls were splayed out over her shoulders how he always preferred and her cheeks were flushed as if she had been running.

"—on," she breathed, her mouth staying open as she stared at him. "Oh. Hi."

He blinked, wondering if she were real or just another illusion that his mind desperately created in it's blind desire to see her. "Clary?"

"You cut your hair."

Jace blinked. It took him a second to realize what she was talking about. And then he smiled. "Oh, right." Reaching up, he ran his fingers through his hair. "Maryse cut it." He felt self conscious suddenly. Did she like it? And did it matter to him if she didn't? She was his—it shouldn't matter what she—he shook the unfinished thoughts away, focusing on her. The flush still hadn't left her cheeks. He shook that away too. She still staring at him. Why was she still staring at him? _Probably because she was hoping to slip into the Institute without running into you,_ he thought flatly. That's usually the point of avoiding someone. In front of him, the elevator was about to close, and Jace reached out to stop it. He kept his tone casual as he held them open and stepped to the side, making room for her in the small box. _So much for Taki's._ Regardless of whether she was avoiding him, there was no chance that he was going anywhere anymore. Not now that she was here. "Did you need to come up to the Institute?"

Clary's emerald eyes widened a fraction, and Jace had to look past her to keep from getting lost in them. "I just wanted to talk to you."

Jace's gaze slipped quickly back to her, his breath hitching and his heart pattering. She was here for him? She wanted to talk to him? She wanted to see him? What's wrong—what happened? But then, why did something have to be wrong? _Because something is always wrong, dumb ass,_ he reminded himself. In front of him, Clary was tugging on her curls in that way she did and didn't realize. He could see the pulse in her throat pounding. _She wanted to talk . . ._ "Oh," was all he managed to say as he stepped out of the elevator. And then, "I was just heading over to Taki's to pick up some food. No one really feels like cooking . . ."

"I understand," she said, her cheeks flushing darker. He had the feeling that she probably _did_ understand. But when she continued to say nothing, Jace shrugged.

"We can talk there." He was aware of the nervous tension in her shoulders at his words—aware of the way she hesitated as he moved past her. Was she worried about being alone with him? He couldn't blame her; he hadn't exactly been very brotherly toward the last few times they had been alone. _She wants to talk._ He suddenly knew exactly what it was she wanted to talk about, and he chomped down on the inside of his cheek. She was going to break up with him. Well, as much as he guessed they _could_ break up—what with them not being together. _And the fact that she's your sister._ All the same, he felt a sickening despair encompass him, but—_She's your sister!_ He wanted to scream it at himself. _You cant break up with someone you're not with!_ So why on earth did he feel like he was about to lose her for good? The thought scared the hell out of him. He stopped at the doors, unable to remember moving, when he turned around to look at her. She was still standing next to the elevator. "Are you coming, or not?" His words had come out sharper than he meant them to, the fear and hopelessness making him angry. Clary jumped, staring at him.

"Oh. Right," she smiled apologetically. "I'm coming."

As they walked, Jace was ridiculously aware of Clary moving next to him as she asked about Alec and Isabelle. She even asked about Max. What she avoided talking about, however, was them. And he couldn't help but wonder if it was because she was still trying to figure out a way to tell him that they couldn't be together. Jace hid a grimace, realizing it wouldn't be the first time she's had to have this talk with him. But last time, it hadn't seemed to be nearly as hard for her to say as it was now. She definitely hadn't procrastinated this much. But Jace wasn't stupid. He knew that the last time she had expressed the wish to just be brother and sister—something he never, in a million years, thought would have to be explained to him when, and if, he ever fell in love—it hadn't gone so well. In fact, it had gone so terribly wrong. He had acted . . . horrible. She was probably afraid of getting the same outcome this time, and was taking it slow. Maybe she was waiting to reach Taki's—like she thought he wouldn't make a scene in front of people. _Ha! Jokes on you . . . I have absolutely zero qualms about making a scene!_ But that was the problem wasn't it? Every time she tried to talk to him about them and how they couldn't—he told her she was wrong. Refused to listen. And that was why they were both hurting now. Glancing down at her, he saw she was watching the ground as she asked about how his family had been doing since the battle on the East River.

She stopped suddenly, her eyes going wide as she looked up at Jace. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "They must be pretty miserable. All these people they knew are dead."

_Well, yes._ _There was that._ But that was normal, wasn't it? Pulling his gaze away from her, Jace moved forward across First. It was nice outside for a change, though he was really wasn't able to enjoy it much. He sighed. "It's different for Shadowhunters. We're warriors. We expect death in a way—"

Jace was cut off by an annoyed over-loud sigh, and glanced down at Clary who was staring up at him. She was nearly jogging to keep up, and he slowed his pace. "You mundanes don't," she said, finishing his sentence. "That's what you were going to say, isn't it?"

The corners of his mouth twitched upward. "I was." But Clary didn't look offended by his admittance. Not really. She was a Shadowhunter—_of course she is—_and yet she was still mundane in so many ways. It was one of the things he loved about her, and one of the things that frustrated him. "Sometimes it's hard even for me to know what you really are."

Shadowhunter.

Mundane.

Girlfriend.

Sister.

_The girl I can't live without._

"I'm Clary."

Jace stopped and looked at her, there eyes locking together like a golden sunrise over an Idris meadow. Clary's words had been both confident and unsure; a statement and a question; a demand and a request. Her Idris eyes were burning into his like she was begging to be seen. _I always see you, Clary,_ he sighed._ Always._ But he couldn't tell her that. He couldn't tell her that being herself was all he ever wanted her to be. That he never wanted her to be anyone else. And yet that wasn't completely true, was it? He wanted so much more from her—_with_ her. It was selfish. Jace had always told himself that he wanted nothing more than to make her happy, and yet all he had done was cause her heartache over and over again with his refusal to accept her as his sister. His refusal to listen when she told him it was impossible, regardless of how hard it must have been for her to say it. Jace knew Clary wanted him to be happy, terrified of breaking his heart more than it had already been. It pained her to have to do it, and he had regrettably witnessed that pain. His stomach twisted. He would do anything to keep her from having to feel that way again. A sudden gust of wind blew a fiery strand of hair across her face and he brushed it back behind her ear before he realized what he was doing. The movement had been so natural, he realized as Clary continued to look at him. _His Clary._

"I know." It was all he could bring himself to say. He knew what he had to do now, and it wasn't going to be easy. But he knew it was what she wanted, and he would always give her what she wanted. Turning, he moved past Clancy, nodding at the ifrit, as he pulled open the door for Clary and followed her inside.

The restaurant was nearly empty, Jace noticed, absently taking inventory of the downworlders as threw himself into the nearest empty booth. He stared down at the menu, not that he really needed to. He already knew what he wanted—knew what his family wanted. But it was easier to stare at the menu than to look up at Clary. All the same he could feel her eyes on him, hear her uneven breath—_dear god, you can hear her even when she's not talking. What is wrong with you?_ Instead answering that—the answer was way too long—he focused instead on the sounds around him as he flipped the menu over. At a nearby table, some werewolves were talking about someone named Dumble Door—_who named their kid Dumble? That's a horrible name!_ All the same, he couldn't help but think it sounded familiar; though he couldn't place the face with the name—or why he thought he might know it. Still, it was an unfortunate name. A face he _could_ place with the name, however, was Magnus Bane.

"This is so weird," Clary said breaking Jace out of his reverie. "Are you listening to them?"

_Yes._ "No," he said casually, turning the menu back around and staring at nothing in general. He still couldn't bring himself to look up at her as he steeled himself for what he was going to do. "It's rude to eavesdrop."

Across from him, Clary went silent and he saw from his peripheral as she pulled the menu toward herself. But she wasn't looking at it. He may not be able to see her fully, but he could _feel_ her. He felt her every times she was in the room—knew when she was watching him, just as she seemed to know when he was watching her. And she was watching him now. He bit the inside of his cheek, keeping his outward appearance relaxed; though on the inside his heart was racing like a horse, his blood pulsing in his ears. This was it. He just knew it. She was trying to figure out how to tell him. "You're staring at me," he said, keeping his tone indifferent as he called her out. No need to prolong the inevitable. "Why are you staring at me? Is something wrong?"

"What can I get you?"

From he corner of his eye, he saw a flash of blue. The waitress had arrived at their table and Jace, who had resigned himself to staring at his menu for the remainder of his time there, was admittedly grateful for the interruption. Across from him, he heard Clary order a burger he knew was usually served raw and some deep-fried crickets dipped in chocolate. In fact, the only thing she ordered that might be considered normal was the mint shake. Jace wondered where her new palate might have come from as it was definitely a stretch from what she usually ate. He didn't comment on it however, as he ordered food for his family and himself. There was another flash of blue and they were alone again—sans menus. Before he could wait for the awkward to set in now that he had nothing to pretend to be engrossed in, Clary shifted.

"Tell Alec and Isabelle that I'm sorry for everything that happened," she said softly. "And tell Max I'll take him to Forbidden Planet anytime."

Jace rested his hands on the table, watching as his fingers laced and unlaced. _Mundane . . . Shadowhunter . . ._ it was comments like that that made it difficult to distinguish the two when it came to her. "Only mundane's say they're sorry when what they mean is, 'I share your grief,'" he pointed out in reference to their previous conversation. Though he _did_ know that his little brother would love to go to the comic store. _Especially with you,_ Jace thought casting a side-long glance at Clary as he remembered the night Max told him that he liked his sister. _So do I._ That's what he had told him. But the word 'like' was not exactly what he had been thinking. Not then and not now. Looking up, he finally met her eyes . . . and saw the guilt in them. "None of it was your fault, Clary," he said irritably—though his irritation was not meant for her. "It was Valentine's."

"I take it there's been no . . ."

"No sign of him?" Jace finished for her, the anger and hate still unabated as he thought of his father. "No. I'd guess he's holed up somewhere until he can finish what he started with the Sword. After that . . ." _War_. But Jace didn't say that. He didn't want to scare her. Instead he shrugged noncommittally. But Clary wasn't going to let him get away with not finishing. Because of course she wasn't.

"After that, what?" she asked.

_War. He will try to start a war, unless we kill him first—unless I kill him first._ Jace shrugged again, looking back down at his hands gripped together on the table. "I don't know. He's a lunatic. It's hard to guess what a lunatic will do next." He knew Clary was looking at him, watching him. He could feel her eyes on him. And this—Valentine and his siblings and talk of war—he knew was not what she had come to speak to him about. This was merely small talk. Jace sighed. He needed to do this quick, he supposed. Like a band-aid. Though, he admittedly wasn't sure who came up with that saying. Ripping a band-aid of your skin, whether slow or fast, was still painful. _Especially if there was any hair in that particular spot._ Jace shook the thought away, continuing to stare at his hands. "Anyway," he said slowly. "I doubt that's what you came to talk to me about, is it?"

"No." And Jace could hear the nervousness in Clary's voice as she hesitated. It was like a blade through his heart that she felt that way around him. Which was why he had to do this . . . right? For her? "I've been wanting to talk to you for the last few days—"

"You could have fooled me." Jace's eyes shot up to her, his tone like ice as he cut her off. He saw her flinch back and instantly regretted it, but still . . . he had tried calling her! Her, Luke, her, Luke . . . and yet— "Every time I called you, Luke said you were sick," he finished his thought out loud, pointedly. "I figured you were avoiding me. Again."

"I wasn't." Clary's tone was earnest, her emerald orbs wide as she stared at him. It was hard to look at her. Doing so only made Jace want to reach out to her, something he probably shouldn't do. "I did want to talk to you," she continued, her voice meeker now. "I've been thinking about you all the time."

Jace let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, along with a sound bordering shock and longing. Before he could stop himself, he did exactly what he had told himself he shouldn't do. He reached across the table for her. And Clary—she didn't hesitate. Her hands slipped easily into his, fitting perfectly as they always did. Everything about her fit perfectly to him though. "I've been thinking about of you, too," he admitted, knowing even as he said it that he did not mean it in the same way as she probably did. _Well, this is a step backwards._ Jace sighed, looking at her. She was beautiful. _She's your sister—that's all she wants to be._ Clary was staring down at their hands.

"I really was sick," she breathed, looking up at him from under her lashes. His heart cracked. "I swear. I almost died back there on the ship, you know." And Jace was reminded vividly of her lying lifeless on the truck bed, soaked through and pale. He had thought she was—he chomped down on his cheek, wanting nothing more than the vision to fade. It usually did. Not this time, though. He remembered how she hadn't looked like herself, her hair a dark red—almost black—and straight under the weight of the water . . .

Jace shook his head again, meeting her eyes. "I know." Still the image persisted, torturing him. "Every time you almost die, I almost die myself." The pain his words caused her was palpable, and he hated himself for it. He would do anything to keep from causing her pain. Even if it meant killing himself by lying to her. Because he loved her.

"Jace." His heart twisted at the finality in her tone. He had made her uncomfortable with his words. _Because she's your sister._ "I came to tell you that—"

"Wait." Jace let go of her, pulling his hands back as his heart twisted painfully. Now that the moment was here, it would be easier to lie if he wasn't touching her. "Let me talk first." Clary shook her head, her eyes wide and her full lips parting. She was worried he was going to try to insist they be together still, he realized. But no, not this time. He would remove that burden from her. Jace held up a hand to stop her. "Before you say anything, I wanted to apologize to you."

Clary's brows creased in confusion. "Apologize? For what?"

Jace's heart lurched. "For not listening to you," he blurted as he exhaled._ And for being in love with you._ Reaching up, he combed his fingers roughly through his hair using both hands. His adrenaline was pulsing as he stared at her. This was going to be much harder than he thought, he realized. _I can't do this . . . I can't . . ._ And yet he knew he had to. He bit the inside of his cheek, shaking his head before continuing. "You kept telling me that I couldn't have what I wanted from you, and I kept pushing at you and pushing at you and not listening to you at all. I just wanted you and I didn't care what anybody else had to say about it. Not even you."

The words rushed from his mouth in nearly a single breath, and now they hung between them. Clary was staring at him, her expression unreadable for once. But he could see her pulse racing in her throat—each beat stabbing his heart. He was about to speak when a sudden flash of blue filled his peripheral, and a moment later their food was in front of them. But he didn't take his eyes off Clary. Even when she looked away to thank the waitress. When she turned back and saw Jace still watching her, she flushed. She was so beautiful when she flushed. But she was also frowning.

"Jace," she breathed his name softly, and his resolve nearly broke. "You didn't do anything wrong. You—"

"No." He stared down at his fries. _Please . . . please don't make excuses for me._ "Let me finish." He couldn't bring himself to look at her now. Or maybe he didn't want to look at her. He was going to lie, but she deserved the truth as well. He took a breath. "Clary, I have to say it now or—or I wont say it. I thought I'd lost my family. And I don't mean Valentine. I mean the Lightwoods. I thought they'd finished with me. I thought there was nothing left in my world but you." That was all the truth. But his next words, while true, were a little less honest. "I—I was crazy with loss and I took it out you and I'm sorry." _Especially because the loss I felt . . . it was not for the Lightwoods, Clary. It was for you. It still is._ He had lost her before he ever really got to have her. And he was losing her again. Jace knew, even now, that would never get over her—not that that changed anything. "You were right."

But even as he said it, Clary was shaking her head adamantly. "No," she whispered. "I was stupid. I was cruel to you—"

"You had every right to be," he said, stopping her from blaming herself. This was on him—every last bit of it. And he would own it. He would make it right, even if it killed him to do so. Meeting her eyes, Jace was suddenly reminded of a storm that had hit Idris when he had been a child. His father had been gone on one of his trips, and so he had hidden in a closet of the manor—terrified of facing it by himself, jumping with each clap of thunder, and wondering if he was going to be alone forever. Jace bit the inside of his cheek. "What you said was true," he continued after a moment, thinking back to that night at the institute when he had tried to get her to continue their relationship in secret. But— "We don't live or love in a vacuum. There are people around us who care about us who would be hurt, maybe destroyed, if we let ourselves feel what we might want to feel." _Not that I care._ And he didn't. Which was the problem. He sighed, forging on while his heart was slowly ripping apart. "To be that selfish, it would mean—it would mean being like Valentine." His father's name—_their father_—put a tone of irrevocability in the air, but Jace knew he had to continue. He had to finish—to let her know that he would give her what she wanted. "I will just be your brother from now on." There. He had said it. And even though he was dying inside, he forced a sincere smile on his face as he looked at her.

But Clary wasn't smiling. She looked . . . sick. Like his words had devastated her. Jace hesitated, his fake smile faltering. "That's what you wanted, isn't it?" _Cause I can totally take it back. I will take it back right now and pull you across this table and hold you and apologize for lying to you. Because I can never truly be your brother. Not really . . . I was just going to pretend, I swear—_

"Yes," she said finally. "That's what I wanted."

He would say his heart crumbled then . . . but that would mean there had been something left of his heart to destroy.

He felt like he was falling down a dark hole that had no bottom. Eventually, he would hit the center of the earth though, and hopefully the molten heat would put him out of his misery. Outwardly, however, he smiled and nodded before picking up a french fry and absently taking a bite of it. They didn't speak much after that. And neither of them ate much. In fact Clary didn't touch any of her food, and ultimately had it boxed up for Luke—who she suddenly remembered she was supposed to meet somewhere. Jace had the nagging suspicion that she was trying to get away from him, but didn't comment on it.

Outside, they walked slowly side by side . . . being careful not to touch one another. Not that it did anything to lessen his awareness of her. Nothing had that much power. When they reached the subway entrance, they stopped. Jace was torn between wanting to go with her back to Luke's—_because I don't like her traveling alone,_ he convinced himself—and going back to the Institute. Clary stared off at the skyline and the bright sun, seeing colors and shapes he never would. Reaching forward he traced his hand along her cheek, her skin like silk beneath his calloused fingers, and her Idris eye's sliced to him. She didn't pull away. All the same, he dropped his hand as he realized that he shouldn't have done that. Pretending to want to be her brother was going to be hard. Maybe he could find a book for on the subject. _So You Just Found Out That The Woman You're Hopelessly In Love With Is Your Sister And Now You Have Pretend You Want to Just Be Her Brother. Because Incest Is Frowned On: A How To Guide._ It was a working title, sure . . . but definitely a New York best seller.

"Well," he said, pleased to hear that his tone was casual and light. "Come by the Institute whenever you want." Clary smiled but said nothing. Since when did she not have something to say? Frowning, Jace pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her in a hug. He could feel the heat of her body as she fit against him like a missing puzzle piece—_A brotherly hug,_ he had to remind himself, letting go of her quickly. Turning she made her way down the steps that led into the subway. "And call me," he shouted after her. She stopped and looked back at him, her eyes shining in the sun. "If you need anything . . . I don't care what time it is, call me." _And I will move hell and high water to get it for you._

She nodded. "Goodbye, Jace."

Then she was gone, and Jace was left standing on the precipice of what he wanted and what he couldn't have.

It didn't matter which way he fell—either side would kill him.

Back at the institute, he handed out the food to everyone, trading quips with Izzy and Max as he did. But his heart wasn't really in it. How could it be after what he had just had to do? He quickly excused himself. Making his way back to his room, he closed the door and threw himself on his bed just as the phone in his pocket began to vibrate. Pulling it out, he flipped it open. It was a text. From Clary. This surprised him as he had not thought he would hear from her again so soon.

_Where are you?_

Jace blinked, reading it again just to make sure he read it right. Where the hell did she think he was? Rolling his eyes, about a thousand sarcastic retorts ran through his head before he texted her back:

_Institute. Why?_

It was a little while before she replied. And when she finally did, Jace stared at the text for a long time. In fact, he still had it open on his phone—still glanced down at it every few seconds. He didn't know what he had been expecting her to say, but it wasn't this. With his heart racing, he read the text one more time.

_I'm on my way. Something's happened. Something big. I'll talk to you soon._

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN:<em>** _Whelp, there it is! The ending to another book! I can't believe I finally finished it! I know that it took me a very, very long time . . . but thank you to everyone who stayed with me and didn't give up! Thank you to my readers, thank you for all the encouraging reviews and for all the favorites and follows! Thank you to the anonymous readers who just want to read. Just . . . thank you to everyone! You guys are fucking awesome! Also, I've been asked if I plan to do City of Glass in Jace's POV. The honest truth is that, with as long as it took me to do this one . . . I just don't know. I can't say I'm not intrigued by it, however. When I had first started CotU, I had not planned to write this one . . . but some things change. So out of curiosity, would any of you want to read CoG if I were to write it in Jace's POV?  
><em>

_Anyhoo . . . as always, please review! I'd love to hear what you guys think!_


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